


No Sweeter Innocence

by FoxglovePrincess



Series: Poor, Sweet, Innocent Thing [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, Biting, Blow Jobs, Cock Warming, Common Cold, Cunnilingus, Dacryphilia, Daddy Kink, Dark, Doggy Style, Dollification, Dom/sub Undertones, Double Penetration, Drug Use, Dry Humping, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Smut, F/M, Face Slapping, Forced Orgasm, Grooming, Haircuts, Hand Feeding, Hints of DDlg, Intercrural Sex, Jealousy, Kidnapping, Love Confessions, Making Out, Manipulation, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Nail Polish, Named Reader, Nicknames, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Obsessive Behavior, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possessive Behavior, Praise Kink, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Somnophilia, The Great British Bake Off References, Unreliable Narrator, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Waxing, Wet Dream, allusions to human trafficking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:48:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 49,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26588392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxglovePrincess/pseuds/FoxglovePrincess
Summary: The reader is trapped in the basement of her best friends’ house. She’s taking it one day at a time.*written in first person and Reader is given the name Sugar (which is a nickname), other pet names used as well (sweetheart, babygirl, princess, etc.). minimal description of reader/narrator appearance, the reader uses female pronouns and has female anatomy.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Reader, Steve Rogers/Reader
Series: Poor, Sweet, Innocent Thing [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1934077
Comments: 243
Kudos: 591





	1. Day 0

**Author's Note:**

> And we’re back with the sequel to Pour Your Sweetness Over Me. This is merely my own interpretation of the events that happen after the first story. If you don’t want to know and keep your own imaginings, I’m all for that. That’s why I kept the first part open-ended and made it a series as opposed to a new chapter. But if you’re curious where I see it going, read on. 
> 
> This will be an on-going story of short(er) chapters of about 1,000 to 5,000 words each. I don’t know how long it will go on. But I figured it will be an experiment.
> 
> Now, I cannot stress this enough: MIND THE TAGS.  
> This is your warning for the whole story, there are themes of emotional abuse/manipulation in this work. The Steve and Bucky of this series have been manipulating the reader for years. There will be eventual smut that will fall under the category of dubious consent. If you don’t like it, don’t read it. Your media consumption is your responsibility.
> 
> Tell what you think in the comments. If I’m missing any tags, let me know (I tried to get everything, but no one’s perfect).
> 
> UnBeta’d, so all mistakes are mine.
> 
> Title taken from “Take Me To Church” by Hozier.
> 
> This work is not to be reposted on any other site without my explicit permission.

I don’t like to fight. When confronted by an unstoppable force, I will always bend, yield, step aside. It’s just who I am—soft, malleable, pleasant. Maybe I prefer to keep peace and travel the road of least resistance. Maybe I’m too trusting of other people’s judgement. Maybe I’m a coward, consumed by fear and anxiety. Still, I’ve always cultivated the aspects about myself that choose compliance over conflict.

Yet with one quiet sentence, that flutters away—released like a butterfly from the remnants of my shattered perception. The pieces of me hit the floor, tinkling like a glass chime. And the silence left behind thunders deafeningly in my ears.

 _“Sugar, you_ are _home.”_

And I revolt. Nails scratching, fists punching, hands shoving—pushing, kicking, scraping to get away from the arms holding me against my will. Snarling and biting, absolutely rabid with a strength I never knew I possessed. Overwhelmed by the ferocity leaking from my veins. All that fear, festering since this evening took a turn for the worse, focused in on one goal—get _out_.

But it was never going to be a fair fight, they arranged it that way. Two against one, planned down to the second, a giant mechanically locked door between me and freedom. It’s hopeless, but, for one brief moment, that doesn’t stop me.

Bucky controls the situation easily, sweeping my body from under me and dropping us to the floor. His knee presses to my back, my breath stuttering from my lungs as the weight of the situation crashes down. Terror drains through my veins, replacing my adrenaline-fueled panic, as clarity alights like a whisper of wings batting against my skin.

My body slumps pliant under Bucky, muscles releasing tension in a show of submission, out of fear and desperate hope. Though that doesn’t stop the involuntary shaking. Tears stream down my cheeks, fat drops falling to the shaggy carpet. The weight of it all suffocates.

Steve crouches down, shushing me with tender caresses. His hand tilts my head up from the floor, brushing away stray strands of hair. Clearing my vision to take in the cornflower blue of his eyes and the strained compassion sitting on the surface. Despite his intentions, it doesn’t soothe me as I catch the dark glint of desire sparking deep below—see it lurking, the truth of it. His thumb traces my trembling lower lip, a dazed, hungry grin spreading across his. He brushes away a tear and brings it to his lips. He licks his thumb with relish before leaning closer.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he croons with pity, tainted by his ravenous need, “you don’t understand yet, but you will. You’re gonna be such a good girl for us.”

A whimper escapes through my lips on a sob. My head pulls out of his hold, burying into the pile of the carpet, trying to block it all out like a horrible dream. My lungs struggle for breath as the fibers tickle my nose, but at least this suffocation is my own choice.

Bucky leans down, hooking his chin over my shoulder and crushing my vanquished form, grumbling, “But since you decided to be naughty, we’ll show you exactly what happens to bad girls.” His voice washes over me, smooth and authoritative and disappointed. And I hate how my gut clenches in regret at upsetting him.

Warm fingers lace into my hair and tilt my head to the side, gentle despite my expectation for roughness. Steve produces a rag from his back pocket, white and sinister. He presses it to my face, the chemical smell flooding my nose and mouth. I gag as dizziness washes over me. They both shush me, hands petting over my figure, as I give one final jolt of fight—a pathetic jerk of movement away. But then darkness descends and I let it pull me under.

Which is how I find myself waking up, blindfolded and restrained, against a cold, concrete wall. Awareness sends me spiraling into a frenzy of absolute dread. My pulse quickening as my throat burns. A keening cry tears from my chest. Darkness surrounds me completely and my breath rips from my lungs, getting caught on the jagged fear inside. I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe, Ican’tbreathe, _Ican’tbreathe_.

“Hey, babygirl, no, no, no, shhhh,” Bucky soothes. Hands grasp at my face, and I wrench it away in fright. “You’re alright, Sugar, we’re taking care of you.”

“Please,” I whimper, voice croaking. “Please, let me go.”

Hands wander over my body, caressing exposed skin. A shiver shudders down my spine—my outer clothes are gone, my bra and underwear the only things protecting my decency, my privacy. Fingers press into my nape and tangle in my hair, tilting my head in one direction. My mind races, jumping from possibility to possibility—trying to figure out where I am, how I’m bound, what’s going to happen.

“Oh, Sugar,” Bucky mutters. Something wet presses to my lips and I jolt back, smacking my head against the wall behind me. Stars dance over the blackness of my vision. “Don’t be like that.” His voice grates with frustration. He sighs and swipes his thumb over my cheek. “I know you want to be a good girl for me and Stevie. You always have been.” His voice smooths over as he speaks, like lush velvet, cloaking my mind in its warm familiarity. “I also know it’s scary, accepting something you’ve always needed, but didn’t realize you wanted.”

A sound of protest escapes from me. Warmth, solid and unrelenting, presses along my front, pinning me to the rough wall. A pained whimper breaks over my lips as the rock digs into my spine. Something runs over my jaw with a brush of his breath—his nose? his lips?—and down my neck.

“But that doesn’t mean you try to hurt us, run away from us.” His teeth nip at my collarbone as his words grate over my skin. I jump, a yelp bursting from my lips. “That was very naughty of you, babygirl. We just want to protect you, take care of you, like we always have.”

“Please,” I beg once more, hoping to somehow break through to him. Tears well in my eyes, despair overtaking me.

“We’ll keep visiting, to take care of you, but you need some time to yourself, to think about what you did and reflect on ways to improve your behavior.” With one last brush against my cheek, he retreats, taking all the heat with him. Shivers shake my body, deep down to the bone. “We know it’ll take a period of adjustment,” He continues, his voice retreating. “We’re very patient, but you don’t want to push us to our limit.”

A door clicks and I’m left in silence. Time continues to tick on and on, but there’s nothing to tell me just how much.

I let go, allowing myself the weakness of fear and hopelessness. Tears stream down my face and sobs echo in the quiet room.

The restraints around my wrists are lined with a soft fabric, and have only a little give. My body strains against them as gravity pulls my collapsing body down, legs giving out beneath me. I grit my teeth through the physical pain, the discomfort, rejoicing in the contrast of sensation—something other than fear and confusion.

Maybe five seconds, maybe five minutes, maybe five hours pass.

Breathing deeply, there is one thought that brings me comfort—at least they don’t want to kill me. Standing back up, picking up the broken pieces of myself, I try to stitch them back together. I press my body against the wall at my back—grounding myself in the bite of the concrete.

They gave me time to think, so I do. Blinded and chained up, I have nothing else to occupy my time. My mind slogs through the mire of what has happened, what will happen, how I am going to endure this. Knowing I should endear myself to them, gain their trust, follow their rules, maybe even surpass their expectations, and run like hell when I get my chance.

My teeth worry over my bottom lip until it beads with blood because, despite knowing this and knowing what’s best, somewhere deep down inside me, I don’t want to _do_ that. And though I try to avoid thinking about why, it doesn’t work. Instead, my reasons begin to haunt me, lurking about as the time passes—prodding me, poking me.

The time is split into intervals, when the door opens and I can feel their gaze on me, or their hands or their breath. They don’t always speak, they don’t always touch. Sometimes they bring bits of food or water to replenish my strength. If I ask nicely, they unchain me and let me use the bathroom, keeping me blindfolded and absolutely mortified as I relieve myself. They wipe away sweat, born from anxiety and stress, from my shaking limbs, keeping me in a decent state of cleanliness. Yet the room temperature remains glacial and I stop being able to tell if it’s the room or my body keeping me cold.

Once, a man with a muted tone walks in, presses my skin with delicate, clinical fingers, sticks me in the neck with a syringe, and I drop to unconsciousness. When I wake, he is gone and my body aches in ways I don’t understand—the back of my neck, my upper arm, in my core. And doesn’t that just volley me into an abyss of horror.

Bound and blind as I am, I live on the edge—jumping at every sound and touch, feeling like my skin is alive with electricity, chunks of time spent with my body uncontrollably shaking from adrenaline. The rumbles and creaks of the house play in my ears as if through a concert speaker, making me cower and turn away, even when it hurts.

Every time I have enough water in my body to produce them, tears well in my eyes—from fear, sadness, guilt, the reason changing with each moment.

The darkness, the stillness leads my mind to wander to wild imaginings and terror-induced fantasies. Monsters slinking in the shadows, waiting to nibble and consume me. Their cold fingers pricking at my skin. I can’t stop, no matter how I try to distract myself, from letting my fear devour any rational thought.

Eventually, I dread they’ve forgotten me, locked me wherever I am to rot. They’ve left me alone, the interval stretching too long—like days have passed since their last visit, though I know how unreasonable that is. Nausea bubbles in my gut at the realization and all I want is for them to come back—I pray for it with whispered words and choked sobs.

And then the door opens, and steps enter to stand beside me.

My chin wobbles as fresh tears soak my face. I can’t help but spew out the words, “I’m so sorry. Please, please, don’t leave me here anymore. I’ll be good, I promise.”

My apologies repeat like a broken record as I lean forward, searching for any sign of one of my captors. I don’t even care who is standing before me, just that they let me out of my chains and let me see—that they hold me and comfort me, bring warmth back into my body.

A beat passes. Then two. My heart pounds in my ears as I strain to hear anything. The weight of a burning gaze lights my skin on fire, but I can hear no more movement.

Fingers gently brush over my hair, pulling at the straps of the blindfold covering my eyes. A sigh passes through my lips, still uttering promises and apologies in turn. My eyes blink open, adjusting to the dim light shining through the doorway. The little closet around me illuminates, dark shadows cast on the bare walls.

My eyes seek out the person releasing me and find Steve. My Steve, smiling at me with that softness in his eyes, bright like the sun, the Steve who makes the best hot chocolate in the whole world.

The chains on the wall clink as I try to reach out toward him—a reminder of my circumstance. He remains steady as he observes me for a moment, almost hesitant. With a glance back over his shoulder, he unbinds my arms and rubs the fragile skin of my wrists. I wince but don’t pull away, basking in his touch, finally feeling warm again.

As soon as he checks on the condition of my body, he steps back. And that step springs the door of their clever trap, caging me in without hope for escape. Because despite knowing what he’s doing—that he is my kidnapper, my captor, my tormentor, and that I must resist him—the swell of relief at seeing his face surges through me with such strength that I launch myself at him on stumbling legs. My arms wrap like vices around his neck, pulling my weak body to his and latching onto his form. My face buries in his neck, breathing in that familiar comfort that comes from his embrace. It’s instinctual, primal, to seek him out, and I have no energy to try to fight it.

Arms wrap around my waist, dipping down to cradle my rear end and lift me into the air. I hang, limp, from him as he carries me out of the room and into the brightness of the basement. Shielding my eyes with a hand, I notice Bucky sitting on the bed, my favorite stuffed animal cuddled to his chest.

“There’s our babygirl,” he coos as Steve sets me beside him on the bed.

I shift, uncomfortable on the cushy mattress after standing for so long—though exactly how long, I wouldn’t know. Confusion paints over my face as Bucky pushes my animal in my arms and stands, pulling Steve close and wrapping an arm around his waist. The two stare into each other’s eyes, a conversation passing between them without words. Punctuated with a lingering kiss.

“Stevie and I have been talking while you were in your time out,” Bucky explains.

My breathing begins to pick up—a time out? That’s what they’re calling it? My mind drifts back to that glacial darkness and a shiver steals through my body. To calm myself, I press my nose into the fur of my stuffed animal, willing the pounding cadence of my blood to ease.

I pause. Take a whiff. And freeze. The soft toy clutched in my hands smells of the two of them—their cologne and their skin. My mind races with thoughts of them holding it, cuddling it, sleeping with it. My arms pulse tighter around it, pressing it closer to my body.

Something inside me splits in twain—a war roaring to life. Horror fights against acceptance as my thoughts volley and crash into one another. Steve and Bucky are my best friends. Steve and Bucky are keeping me _in their basement_. Steve and Bucky have always been there to take care of me, _save me_ , help me. Steve and Bucky captured me here, trapped in this room. Yet somehow I don’t want to leave—leave this room, leave _them_. A muffled whimper escapes my lips as my rationality flitters about, just out of my grasp.

“We realized we didn’t take the best approach in asserting ourselves. We should have known better,” Steve says with a chuckle, one of his arms reaching up to rub at his neck, his smile turning sheepish as he glances away. My heart stutters at the gesture, there really is something so lovably adorable about him. “Of course you would act out when we didn’t properly explain ourselves.”

Bucky’s arm squeezes around Steve’s waist as he turns to me with a sharp smile and says, “We’ve always taken care of you, been good to you. But we realized that the three of us could be so much more.” His eyes stare at me, observing and analytical, focused—too focused. “So we started getting ready for you to join us. Stevie and I have done so much for you, babygirl. We wanted this to be perfect.” He turns to his husband, a crack of softness breaking through his gaze. “It wasn’t, and that’s on us. But you’re here, and that’s what matters.” Steve reflects Bucky’s joy as they turn back to me, expectant. “What do you think?”

My stuffed animal sits in my lap, wrapped in my arms—a shield sitting between me and them. I keep dragging air into my lungs, trying to keep calm and scramble for the right words. I can’t go back into the dark. Bucky grins, though it doesn’t reach his eyes, a thin glass mask of compassion on his face—easy to shatter with one wrong move.

“You’re both very kind,” I start, eyes flicking over the room, avoiding the two of them at all cost. “The room is lovely. I just—”

My teeth bite my lower lip, halting my question. Gaze finally finding them again, Bucky’s smile slides off his lips, though he doesn’t scowl. The controlled blankness of his expression gives me pause. He nods, a subtle push for me to complete my thought.

“I don’t understand, why me?”

“You’re so special, sweetheart. I knew it from the minute I saw you, crying on the floor of the café,” Steve assures as he perches beside me on the bed. His hand reaches out to my ankle, dragging his warm palm up my calf toward my knee. The limb dances in a shudder under his hand. Whether he notices or not, he doesn’t acknowledge the reflexive move. “Once Bucky realized how exceptional you were, we decided we would take care of you.” He sighs and leans close, pressing against my side. My body flinches away, but craves the closeness, the heat, the solace. “You’re so much better than all the others.”

My blood freezes. I swallow hard. My tongue feels thick in my mouth as I whisper, “There were others?”

“None like you,” Steve admits, trying to be reassuring, but misses the mark—by a country fucking mile.

My body grows rigid against his. Bucky steps closer to the bed, blocking any escape I may have had from Steve. They crowd close to me, keeping me in place as my heart rate begins to pick up.

“Steve wanted you,” Bucky continues with a shrug, eyes burning deep holes into me. “But I didn’t see it, until you brought those brownies to us. Our sweet, little Sugar, so shy but insistent on being so thoughtful and polite. I knew, then, you were made for us.”

Numbness creeps through my blood. My gaze drops to my legs, vision growing fuzzy around the edges. I try to shake it away, but it doesn’t abate.

“Sure, we’ve helped people get on their feet before, like Peggy and Gabe, countless others, but, you, we wanted to keep you close.” Bucky huffs a breath, a happy sounding thing. “And you kept coming back to the café, to _us_. You must’ve felt it, too.”

“But—” The word croaks out of my throat, rasping against my vocal chords. “But I can’t stay here. I had a life out there.”

Steve’s hand lands on my thigh, fingers pressing deep into the tissue. The bruises begin to form under his grip, I can feel them. My face buries into the soft plush on my lap and my eyes squeeze tight. I bite back the whimper of pain and fight off the instinct to pull away—knowing it won’t help.

“What kind of life was it, Sugar?” Steve asks, voice harsh, irritation lacing his words just on the edge of anger. “Because we watched you, day in and day out. We _saw_ you.” Tears pool in my eyes and drip down my cheeks. “Do you talk to your family? What about friends? Can you really say that your life was fulfilling?”

Each word feels like a heated dagger, stabbing my guts and eviscerating my being. My breath hitches as I try to refute his claims. But I come up empty.

“Babygirl, you were so lonely, all by yourself. We want to make you happy. Stay by you, always,” Bucky pronounces, a gentle hand falling to pet my hair, brushing it away from my face. The bed sink beside me, his knee pressing against my thigh as he climbs next to me. “No one else wants you, but _we_ do.” He lowers his head, catching my eyes as they peek out from behind the toy. “You always loved how we treated you before, right?”

I swallow the words bubbling in my throat. My head bobs once, a reluctant agreement.

“That doesn’t have to change. We can take it slow,” Steve implores. “We just want to keep you closer, safer, treat you right.” My eyes flit to his face, smooth and clear of aggravation. His fingers wipe away my tears, affection bright in his gaze.

Deep, deep down, something releases, a knot untangling. The roaring battle in my head quiets to a dull throb, the silky smooth familiarity of their voices lulling me into exhaustion. My head sways on my shoulders, sleep creeping over my senses.

Steve’s hand cradles the back of my skull as he guides me to lay on the bed. He keeps watch over me, not breaking eye contact as I sink deeper and deeper. The bed is so soft and I’m so tired, my eyes flutter shut as my head finds the pillow.

“That’s our girl,” Bucky coos.

He leans over my form, lips pressing to my forehead. My head tilts, leaning into it. A chuckle rumbles in his throat, as his fingers dance softly over my cheek. His presence disappears.

The sound of rain echoes around the room, an adjustment to the tone and volume, from a sound machine. God, they know everything about me. More fingers stroke my cheek before retreating. The lights overhead dim.

My breath hitches. “Please don’t turn out the light.” My eyes flutter open, widening in fear, and dart to Bucky standing by the switch.

“We won’t,” he assures me with a small smile. That soft smile that always sat on his lips in the café kitchen. I nod my head on the pillow, relaxing back with my stuffed animal clutched to my chest.

“We won’t leave you in the dark again,” Steve promises with a kiss to my forehead. “Sweet dreams, sweetheart. We’ll see you in the morning.” Steve runs a gentle hand over my hair, pulling me back toward my slumber. My eyes shut once more.

Blankets wrap around me, a cocoon of warmth and safety. I drift as bodies softly jostle the bed and distant sounds echo—a beep, a whir, a click.


	2. Day 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waking on a new...day?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is your warning. Check the tags. New ones added. If you don’t like, don’t read.
> 
> This is kinda on the longer side. Other chapters will (hopefully) be shorter. Leave a comment to let me know what you think!

Eyes flutter open to a new…something—possibly a new day, but without a clock or windows, I can’t tell. My back stretches as a groan passes over my lips. The bed pulls me back toward sleep, but I know that I won’t be able to fully sink into unconscious bliss.

My hands fan out around me on the bed, one tugging my stuffed animal close to my side, the other brushing over the sheets to my other—the warm sheets. My hand pats over them, as I sit up. Definitely warm, like someone had been laying next to me as I slept.

My eyes dart around the room, searching for a sign of life, of movement. But there’s only me, sitting on my fluffy, unfamiliar bed. I swallow thickly as reminders of my situation filter through.

Hand reaching over to the side table, I flick off the sound machine, leaving only silence. I stay still for a moment with the quiet before pushing the blankets down my legs, exposing my near nudity. My gaze lands on the wardrobe and I shift to start my pursuit of actual clothing.

But then the door beeps and whirs and clicks.

It swings open. And there stands Bucky with a subdued smile, eyes wary as they find me in my position on the bed.

Clearing my throat quietly, I greet him with a shy, “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Sugar,” he replies genially, voice still a little husky from sleep. A shudder races down my spine at the sound.

Though he remains just a touch tense, some of the strain drips away from his shoulders. He walks in and closes the door behind him. Whir, click. His steps approach the bed and I watch every move. He sits at the foot, hand reaching out to brush against my ankle.

My legs unfold for him, hoping to keep him happy, to please him, to remain in good favor.

“Don’t look at me like that, babygirl,” he pleads, scooting closer over the sheets. He pins me in place easily, wrapping his arms around my body and pulling me flush to him. “You have nothing to fear from Stevie and me.” His nose presses against my neck. We sit in silence for a minute as he holds me.

“I-I know that,” I reply in a whisper.

My face turns toward him, pressing my lips against his crown—for me, for him—I don’t know, don’t want to know. My eyes drift down his form as he breathes deeply against me. I flinch with a shiver as his breath tickles my neck. His chest rumbles with a chuckle.

“Come on, baby, we need to clean you up,” he sighs.

He stands and holds out his hand, a sappy smile on his face. My hand trembles, but his firm grip holds me steady. He pulls me up and leads me toward one of the closed doors.

It opens to a wide space, with a large sink and countertop scattered with personal care products, bright lights glinting off the white subway tile and huge mirror, and a gigantic tub sitting in the corner.

Pressure sits on my full bladder as Bucky leads me in, the promise of a bathroom—with a _door_ —too much of a temptation. My teeth worry over my lips as I scramble for words to shoo the man out of the room for some privacy.

“I-I need to use the bathroom,” I stutter out hastily, looking to the floor and praying for reprieve.

Bucky’s eyes scan me, a soft grin tilting his lips, as he says, “You want your privacy, babygirl?”

“Yes, please,” I answer quickly and quietly.

“So polite,” he coos. His hands cup my cheeks as he presses a kiss to my nose. “I’ll be outside, in your room. When you’re done, just open the door and I’ll help you with your bath.”

I nod, a bit skeptical, but watch as he exits the room, drawing the door closed behind him until it latches. My feet rush to the toilet and I relieve myself.

Eyes glancing to the side, looking at the tub, I can’t help but wonder. The taps don’t look complicated. Surely, I could figure them out on my own. But I shake my head of the notion—no way am I going against what they ask of me. They seem happy with me now, I’m not jeopardizing that. I finish and stand, pull my underwear up, flush, and turn to the sink.

With two pumps of the rose scented hand soap, I wash up, avoiding the sight of myself in the mirror. As the toilet swirls in the background, I wait for Bucky to burst back into the room. It’s not like the door has a lock. But he doesn’t.

I take a moment, staring at it, waiting. Nothing happens, so I quickly scramble for a toothbrush and brush my teeth—oh, for my mouth to feel clean again! My feet step over to the door once I finish, cracking it open and peeking out.

Bucky stands in the kitchenette, laying things out along the counter and rummaging through the mini-fridge.

I push the door open further and call out, “Um, Bucky?”

The smile on his face as he turns is enough to outshine Times Square. He drops the things in his hands, striding over.

“Such a good girl, Sugar,” he compliments with soft look of adoration on his face.

My eyes drop to the floor, unable to stop the heat climbing up my cheeks. They have to stop it with the praise—my heart can’t take it. My teeth gnaw my bottom lip as I retreat back into the bathroom.

“You ready to take your bath?” he asks, following me in.

My response is a wordless nod. He kneels beside the basin of the tub and turns on the water. His hands reach toward the counter, opening a cabinet and pulling out a small basket filled with…bath bombs?

“I’ve been waiting to use these,” he says with an adorably guilty little shrug. “I saw them in the store a week ago and I couldn’t help thinking of you. I picked up as many as they had in stock.”

My knees wobble as I step closer, dropping to sit next to him, leaning in to smell them. Peach and rose and vanilla. It’s nice, subtle—probably even something I would pick out for myself, if I ever bought stuff like that.

I say as much, a vaguely astonished, “It smells good.”

Bucky chuckles at that. Placing one on the corner of the counter and putting the others back. “I do know what my girl likes, you know,” he teases, a proud excitement in his tone. His hand swirls through the water, feeling the temperature. “Why don’t you get undressed? Water’s almost ready.” He pats his hand dry on his jeans and turns to me, an expectant look in his eyes.

My head tilts to the side, confusion sweeping through me. My mouth gapes open as I try to think of a response.

“Come on, baby,” he encourages, turning off the water and dropping the bath bomb into it. “You don’t have to be shy with me. And you definitely don’t want a cold bath.”

Ice freezes through my veins as his response really hits—he’s not leaving me to bathe by myself. He’s staying to watch. I can’t make myself move, frozen in place. Bucky’s cheek twitches, his jaw clenching. A crack in his cheerful demeanor.

And just like that, I comply. Pulling a quick breath into my lungs, my hands reach up like a rusty machine—slow and tense—to unfasten my bra. I look over, nerves bouncing along my skin, probably clear as day on my face.

“I won’t watch you, Sugar,” he sighs, sounding mildly disappointed. His eyes close, his other hand covering them. “Just tell me when you get in the tub safely.”

“Okay, thank you,” I whisper, the words feeling like lead on my tongue.

Steeling myself as best I can, I yank my bra off my arms and shove my underwear down my legs. They both fly across the bathroom floor, no longer my concern. Moving quickly and carefully, I submerge my body under the water of the deep tub, the color of the bath bomb painting the top a gorgeous peachy pink—a lovely kind of concealment for me. My legs crest the water as I pull them close to my chest.

“Okay,” I say once more, just slightly louder.

Bucky’s hands drops from his eyes. His smile is back on his face, completely free of tension as he leans against the side of the tub. His hand swirls in the water as he watches me. My eyes stare at a point just above his heart, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

After a good, long moment, he straightens just slightly. His eyes find mine as he dips his head to catch my gaze.

“I’m sure you’re very confused about what’s going on and what’s going to happen.” He pulls his hand out of the bath, reaching for a towel to dry it off, gaze moving along with it. “You’re ours, Sugar—Stevie’s and mine. And you’re not getting away from us.” I swallow hard at the decisiveness of his last statement. “We told you we would take it slow, and that’s true because we want you to be happy here with us, comfortable. But there are rules that you are going to follow.” His attention snaps back to me, worry crossing his features.

It’s only then I notice my shaky, frantic breathing as fear courses through my veins. Bucky scoots closer instantly. His hands reach up, steadying my head and locking our eyes.

“Don’t be scared, babygirl, they’re only going to help you adjust and figure this all out. We’re never gonna hurt you.” His hands brush through my hair, pulling at the knots that have formed in it.

My eyes close to calm myself, focusing on the brief twinges of my scalp, grounding myself in the moment instead of drifting through panicky what-ifs.

“I’m gonna wash your hair, now, tilt your head back,” he instructs softly.

He grabs under the counter again, pulling out supplies—bottles, a washcloth, a cup. He stands, shedding his socks, his shirt, his jeans, before climbing to sit on the edge of the tub behind me. I glance over my shoulder, wary, but he waits patiently until I tilt back.

Dunking the cup in the water, he wets my hair, supporting my neck with his free hand as the liquid cascades down my scalp. I close my eyes as he leans over, sweet smelling shampoo in his hands. His fingers lather the product through the dirty strands of my hair, and I get lost in the sensation. The act more soothing than I could ever imagine.

“Now,” he purrs. My eyes peek open to see the eager look splashed across his face. “I’m gonna go over your rules for you, baby. You listening?”

A breathy sigh escapes my lips as I nod, feeling dreamy as he pours water over my hair, washing away the suds delicately. A little kind, human touch changing everything—washing my hair, suddenly a gateway to trust. My eyes flutter closed again, but, with a light tap on my forehead, they open. 

“Good girl, listening so well and letting daddy take care of you.” He smiles fondly. He waits as he pours another cup of water over my head, looking for leftover bubbles of shampoo. And looking for my response with a vigilant gaze.

My mouth dries. My breath hitches in my throat. Heat licks up my spine and pools in my core—and I doubt I conceal it, despite my efforts to do so.

He reaches for the next bottle, eyes sparkling triumphantly. “Rule number one,” he begins, “Steve and I know what’s best. We’ll make your decisions for you, make sure our baby doesn’t have to worry about anything.”

I try to concentrate on his voice, even as his fingers smooth through strands of hair, now coated with conditioner. These are my rules—my guidelines for survival. If this is all I’ll know from now on, they’re paramount to maintaining a comfortable existence.

“Rule number two, be a good girl. Make good choices when they’re given to you and listen like we know you can.” He smiles down at me as his fingers massage my scalp, keeping me serene, docile.

“Rule number three, we will trust and respect you, and expect the same in return. That means no talking back or lashing out in anger. And,” he pauses to ensure my attention, “this is important, Sugar.” His hand runs over my hair, smoothing it down against my head. “If you are feeling upset or dealing with strong emotions, you come and tell us.”

His hands still as he looks at me, waiting for an acknowledgement on my part. I nod my head quickly, aching for his approval.

“Last rule, babygirl,” he mutters, yearning bright in his eyes, “don’t deny us affection. We’re taking it slow and will respect your boundaries. But you’re also _our girl_. And we won’t have you denying us access to what’s ours.”

My brow furrows as I stare up at him, upside down from my vantage point. Confusion sweeps through me. The bath is already well beyond my boundaries—and this is taking it _slow_? The contradiction—the hypocrisy—of the rule doesn’t even register to him.

“You’ve been so good, baby, even before you knew the rules,” he assures me, reaching for the cup to wash out the conditioner. “You haven’t denied us anything before. You only slipped once, when you got here, but that’s all been forgiven. I just don’t want to punish you again.”

My shoulders tense as my mind whips back to the cold, dark isolation. All questions about my rules shut down—instantaneously.

He continues carding his finger through my hair until all traces of the conditioner are gone. Once finished, he presses a kiss to my forehead, stands, and steps back on the bathmat. Grabbing the washcloth, he wets it and squishes on the body wash. His hand closes around it as he looks at me expectantly.

“Time to wash your body,” he says after he catches my inquisitive gaze.

A heated blush overtakes my face, boiling up from my toes and filling my head with the throbbing sound of my heartbeat. Bucky waits, eyes cool and considering. With a gulp, I allow my body to unfold as Bucky kneels beside the tub and reaches toward me.

I try to block out his actions, squeezing my eyes closed and remaining limp for his maneuvering. Embarrassment flashes through me every time my mind drifts back to my body. But I remain unresistant.

He takes his time, relishing in the chance to pamper me. He washes everywhere, even my face after he finishes with every other inch of me. And then he’s done, wringing out the towel and setting it aside.

His hand reaches under the water, skimming along my calf as he searches out the drain and pulls. The gurgle of the water as it rushes away echoes my own stomach as I feel the pangs of hunger begin with a vengeance. He chuckles, throwing on his clothes quickly, before grabbing my towel and standing with it open.

“As soon as we’re done, Sugar, I’ll get you something to eat.”

And I cringe internally as my heart leaps at the thought of his cooking, my mouth already watering.

Bucky waits.

As I stand on shaky legs, he wraps the plush fabric around me and dries me off. The towel rubs gently over my skin, picking up the beads of water that drip. He allows me to step out of the tub, wrapped in it, as he turns toward the counter once more. He drags over a bottle of lotion, pumping some into his hands and warming it between his palms. He gestures for me and I realize, with alarm, that he wants me to drop the towel.

Shoving away my last bit of dignity, I fold the material and place it over the rack. Refusal is not an option. Shoulders as straight as I can manage, I wait for the humiliation he has planned for me, my gaze firmly locked on the wall adjacent.

“So beautiful, babygirl.” His nose buries into my neck as warms hands sweep over my skin, painting it with lotion.

The smell of it matches the bath bomb—and the other bottles. My brow furrows, lips parting on a question. He draws away with a grin.

“Knew you would smell so sweet for me. Just had to get the full product line,” he confesses, almost psychic, continuing to coat me from head to toe with moisturizer, swiping my underarms with deodorant.

At least the scent of everything isn’t overpowering.

When he’s done, he sighs, pleased with his work. Stepping away from me, arms crossed, he scans my body, inspecting every inch. I shift on my feet under his burning gaze, resisting the urge to cover my bare skin.

“Let’s get you dressed, babygirl,” he muses, wrapping an arm around my waist, pressing me close and walking back out into my room.

He sits me on the bed, strolling to the wardrobe and shuffling through the clothes inside, going through the interior drawers and pulling hangers. None of it looks familiar. A knot of nerves twist in my stomach.

He motions for me to stand and I comply silently as he begins to dress me. The underwear smoothing up my thighs and he wraps me in a bra—a matching set I’ve never seen before, but fits perfectly. He takes care of everything as he dresses me, tucking my head through the neck hole of a slouchy, long sleeve shirt—sky blue with pale yellow stars—and buttoning me into dark overall shorts. Grey thigh high socks slide up my legs before he’s done and scanning over my outfit, fixing a button here and straightening a seam there.

And then he leads me over to the vanity, sitting me on the stool to blow dry my hair. He combs it and pulls it away from my face in a high ponytail before his hands land on my shoulders.

“Time to feed my perfect li’l babygirl,” he coos, a contented smile on his face as he kisses the top of my head.

He turns away, walking to the kitchenette and starts sorting through the food once again. My eyes glance at him over my shoulder before turning back to the vanity mirror.

A fleeting impression darts across my mind, an inkling of what this is. And I’ll admit to Googling it, the dynamic fitting with my personal tastes. Taking in my appearance, there’s something agreeable about it, something cute, something that makes me want to smile. A scowl lines my face instead—this should not be so pleasant, I shouldn’t _like_ this. I rip away my gaze. How the hell did they look at me, always too tall and wide and clumsy for anyone to want, and think, ‘yes, she’s the one for us’?

My head shakes as I dispel the thoughts running amok. That doesn’t matter in the long-run. What matters is following Bucky and Steve, keeping them pleased and happy with me.

I stand from the vanity, shuffling toward Bucky who is plating up what looks like lunch. My hands latch onto the back of his shirt, grasping at anything to keep me out of my thoughts. He turns over his shoulder, delighted awe shining in his eyes. He jerks his head toward the table—my white dining set—and we walk over.

He sits and before I can even think to pull out my own chair, he pats his thigh. I close my eyes, for a moment, steeling my nerves and sit across his lap.

“I’m not too heavy?” I ask, self-consciously shifting over him.

“You’re perfect, Sugar,” he replies smoothly, lifting a small green grape up toward me.

My hand reaches out to take it from his fingers, but he tsks and keeps it steady on a path toward my lips. My mouth parts, accepting the grape and biting down. It’s sweet—sweeter than normal—tasting of cotton candy. My hand covers my mouth, a noise of shock escaping me.

“You always said you wanted to try them,” Bucky states eagerly, picking up another and guiding it to my lips.

“Thank you, Bucky,” I mumble in reply.

We sit in silence as he feeds me on his lap—grapes, some broccoli and carrots, a sandwich on homemade bread. He helps me take sips of water from a purple cup and rubs his hand over my back, keeping me anchored to him.

Unable to take the quiet meal anymore, I gather up my courage and ask the question that’s been nagging me since Steve mentioned it, “What happened with the others?”

The arm around me tenses, Bucky pausing as he lifts a carrot stick toward my mouth. His head cocks to the side, his lips pressed together as he contemplates his response.

Finally, he says, “They were people, just like you, down on their luck and struggling to get by.” His shoulders bob with a shrug. “We had the privilege, the means and connections, to help them on their feet, so we did. And they’re more than grateful for it.”

I pull the sleeves of my shirt over my hands, stretching the fabric slightly, as I shift on my perch.

“Tell me about them?” I ask, with a hesitant glance toward his eyes. I accept the carrot stick he holds out for me, dipped in a little glob of peanut butter.

“Alright,” he assents, eyes slightly narrowed. “Gabe stumbled into the café, looking for a job and smelling like the street. We gave him a chance, turned out he was fluent in a handful of different languages. We helped him get started on his degree, with help from the right friends, and now he’s a professor of linguistics at Cornell.”

I hum, mind racing. That was certainly a steep climb. How long ago would they have started? Certainly well before I met them, and the increase in popularity of their café. How did they have the means, the connections, then? Who _are_ these men?

“You also mentioned Peggy?” I broach, fishing for more details to possibly make sense of what I’m learning.

Bucky holds up the sandwich to my lips, face still wary of my inquiry, but seemingly willing to continue answering me. I take a bite, the flavors coating my palate as I chew. He wipes his thumb over the corner of my mouth where a bit of aioli smudged against my skin.

He sucks it off before continuing, “A couple years ago, we met her when we were delivering donations to the homeless shelter.” My eyes widen—a woman like Peggy, living in a shelter—I couldn’t picture it. “She was so spunky, another one Steve liked.”

My mind jolts with shock as I ask, “Did you like her?”

The question covers the onslaught of others vying to spill from my lips. Did they try to take her? Was she like me back then, another one of their girls? Did she escape? Did they let her free?

“She was a spitfire, not really my type, but Steve went nuts for her and I wanted him to be happy.” Bucky’s shoulders shrug as he presses a kiss to my neck and reaches for the glass of water.

“What happened?”

“We offered to help her out,” he explains, holding the cup steady as I drink. Each sip feels enough to drown me as my heart beats faster, expecting the worst from the story. “She was a proud one, didn’t like handouts. But she lived with us for a while in the room next to the library.”

My lips rip away from the cup, a coughing fit seizing my lungs as water travels down the wrong pipe. Bucky sits straighter, rubbing my back as I settle.

I gesture for him to continue, and he does. “She’s smart, likes to read everything she can. So, we set her up with an interview with Loki at the magazine, and she’s been climbing higher ever since.”

“What happened with Steve?” My curiosity gets the better of me, and I have to know—despite the mild glint of annoyance shadowing Bucky’s gaze.

He still doesn’t hesitate. Telling me what I want to know, while his hands clutch at my waist and press me close.

“They skirted around each other, but she found someone else and left, think her name was Angie.” He pauses. Another grape presses against my lips. “Broke his heart, but I told him there would be someone out there for us, and then you show up.” His eyes shine at me, irritation vanishing. His hand skims up my back and he pulses his fingers around the nape of my neck. “And you’re so much better for us. The sweetest thing we could ever ask for, absolutely perfect, babygirl.” He leans forward brushing his lips along my cheek.

“Any others?” I push gently, voice softer, knowing I’m treading too close to the edge.

“There are plenty.” His head bobs as he leans back in his chair, taking me with him as he slouches. My head presses to his shoulder, breath rattling with quiet dread. “Maria’s a personal assistant to the CEO of a multi-billion dollar security company. Falsworth is now a high ranking intelligence officer for MI-6. Sharon used to work for the U.N., as an executive secretary.”

“Sharon?” I jolt, tensing momentarily as I remember that name. “Is that the same woman who confronted me at the café?”

“Yes,” he confirms, tone hard and verging on upset, body rigid beneath me. My hand reaches for his chest, rubbing my palm over his shirt in a bid to soothe him. The tension melts away under my caress. “That was an unfortunate incident,” he sighs, “but we took care of it, Sugar. That’s why she _used_ to work there.” My hand freezes on his chest. He grabs it with his own and presses a kiss to the back of it. “Her behavior was unacceptable. She attacked you. Steve and I couldn’t stand for that. And what we give, we can always take away.”

I swallow hard, voice straining, “Are you going to take away what you’ve given me?”

“Never.” His head shakes as he replaces my hand to his chest and wraps around me like an anaconda. My breath stills, trapped in my lungs. “We’ve decided on you. You understand? You’re ours now, and you always will be.” He tilts his head down to catch my gaze and I look up, knowing it’s expected.

My tongue darts over my lips, taking a moment to decipher my scrambled thoughts. “And if I do something unacceptable, unforgivable—”

“Impossible,” he cuts me off, eyes burning right through me. His conviction stronger than steel. I shrink beneath his gaze.

“How do you get all these connections?” I wonder, not even expecting an actual answer. But it burns at me all the same. I still need to know and I still have more questions—thousands of them.

“We know people, through the army, through friends and friends of friends. It’s a network, Sugar. And it just keeps growing,” he replies, providing the last corner of my sandwich in his fingers.

He smirks as I wrap my lips over them to take the bite, swiping my tongue against the digits. All the while, my blood runs cold, the unspoken threat pounding through my head.

“Now, is that enough questions for today?”

I pause to chew and swallow, the word—the one he wants to hear—stuck in my throat, but I force it out. Keep him happy, give him what he wants.

“Yes, thank you, daddy.”


	3. Day 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spending some time with Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No new tags to add quite yet. Same warnings still apply from previous chapters, though. 
> 
> And I’m back with another chapter. I really wasn’t thinking I would be finished with another so soon. And it’s even _longer_ than the last one. Oh boy. Also, yes, as we keep going in the story, I’ll be skipping days. Some will be mentioned, others just mostly glossed over.
> 
> The reader gets some of her questions actually answered and admits some things to herself. There’re also some hints at kinks coming (heh) later in the story. 
> 
> Enjoy!

“What’s that?” I ask as I sit up, curious eyes glued to the package Steve sets atop the white table.

He shoots me an indulgent smile as he walks over and climbs into bed beside me. He stretches out, head resting on my pillow. Though I catch a glimpse of him over my shoulder, my gaze stays focused on the plain brown box he brought down with him this morning.

“We don’t want you stagnating down here, Sugar,” he replies, gently tugging on a loose lock of my hair, trying to capture my attention. I hum in response as my brow furrows.

Stagnating. That’s what I’ve been doing the last two days, I suppose.

After lunch with Bucky the other day, Steve entered the basement and they’d spent the rest of the day playing board and card games with me. Steve kept me close the whole time, and I don’t think I moved, on my own, once. Aside from occasional bathroom breaks.

I spent the time listening to them recount tales and share anecdotes about their childhood, their time in the army, their vast network of friends. Honest and willing to spill every little detail. It felt normal, comfortable—like we were back in Bucky’s kitchen and nothing was wrong.

Bucky prepared us dinner, excusing himself as Steve challenged me to a game of Go Fish. Which I won. Then Bucky stole me from his husband while we ate, sitting me on his lap and feeding me forkfuls of salad and spaghetti.

They changed me into my pajamas—some frilly, but comfortable cotton romper in lavender—and tucked me into bed, a kiss to the forehead each. Then they walked out the door—beep, whir, click—the soundtrack of my confinement.

The day after, I woke up, in the same situation, a warm patch of sheets beside me. Steve brought cereal for breakfast with a sunny smile and Bucky at his heels. As soon as I finished, they changed me into their desired outfit for the day—a cute raspberry colored dress, just long enough to touch my knees, and some frilly ankle socks. Then, I stubbed my toe on the bed frame, which somehow meant I couldn’t walk for myself the rest of the day.

Steve brought down his collection of L. Frank Baum novels and began reading _The Wonderful Wizard of Oz_ aloud, cuddled behind me, draping over my back like a blanket, his free hand resting heavy on my thigh. We sat in a nest of blankets and pillows from upstairs, shoved into an open corner of the room. Almost like a pillow fort—that I couldn’t hide in.

After lunch, Bucky brought down some ingredients and decided we should bake cookies together. Simple chocolate chip cookies. I sat on the counter helping to measure out flour and sugar while the mixer thrummed in the background. He fed me dough off his fingers as he stood between my legs and scooped them onto the tray, all the while sporting a dazed and dopey grin. They had to bake upstairs where there was an oven, but we ate them after dinner.

Steve read to me some more after we finished, sitting cocooned between him and Bucky on my bed. And I let my mind float along with his smooth baritone lilting over the words.

Dredging up the courage whilst basking in the affection of their goodnight kisses, I asked for a clock. Perhaps that was what he brought me?

Then again, they’ve proven to be full of surprises—case in point, my residence in their basement.

At least I’ve gathered some important information.

Bucky prefers to be called ‘daddy’, always, even in front of Steve. But doesn’t get upset if I forget and call him Bucky instead.

Steve doesn’t care what I call him, but lights up—quite adorably—like a Christmas tree when Bucky calls him Stevie.

Bath night is every other night before bed, but they apply lotion daily, to every inch of my body.

They’ll use any excuse to push closer. And I find myself not upset by it, which I _should_ be. And because of that, my whole existence is starting to revolve around pleasing them, and simultaneously dwelling on the chaos of my own clashing thoughts and my genuine emotions.

Lastly, their constant attention—their inability to leave me alone, the limited activity allotted to me in my room, and the nonexistence of alone time—is going to drive me to the brink, stifle and smother me completely or spark an explosion.

Steve tugs my hair again, a bit harder than before, but not enough to hurt. My eyes snap in his direction and I reposition myself on the bed, scooting my body to lay beside his. He draws me closer, tucking me under his arm.

“You can open it after breakfast,” Steve hums, stretching his muscles.

The hem of his shirt rises, exposing a strip of his lower abdomen, and my eyes automatically latch onto it. A chuckle shakes his chest. And I realize my hand has lifted on its own to reach toward that patch of uncovered flesh. I clench my fingers into a fist and retract my hand to rest at my side.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Steve murmurs, low and a little husky. “You can touch, if you want.”

I gulp, emphatically shaking my head in denial. Silence descends. My mind races for the next move. I can’t undo the last minute. I can’t move away. I can’t move forward, let my fingers trace over his heated skin—that would be _wrong_ , right?

Steve shifts, propping himself up on his forearm and meeting my gaze. His brow sits heavy over his eyes as he stares at me. His fingers trace over my cheek, brush over my lips.

He leans forward, forehead pressing to mine. His eyes flutter shut, and his eyelashes are so _long_. He’s too handsome, a golden god shining his light on me—letting me bask in his presence, even when it scorches. Pressed this close, I just feel the comfort he radiates—warm and fuzzy and everything I remember.

Sometimes it’s hard to recall that I should be upset with him and Bucky, for uprooting my life, for kidnapping me. Mostly, the awareness just doesn’t help—or change things. Especially when, in some moments, like this one, all I want to do is worship their beauty, tilt my head and kiss their plush lips. Drink in every artful detail of them.

I shove those thoughts away—reprimanding myself. They just need my body, their toy for their pleasure and fulfillment. I shouldn’t let them have my mind, my heart. They can’t take those from me unless I give in—though, too late, really. Checking myself, in a split second, I swallow down the welling desire for my captor.

If only they had let me stay at the café. There I could keep a safe distance—keep myself from dipping into temptation, focus on work to distract myself from devouring their movements with a hungry gaze.

Though, I admit, I would have been theirs if they had asked—would have allowed them anything. And isn’t that just a realization that knocks the air out of me. At least then I wouldn’t have to debate how much of myself to give to them based on fucking _circumstance_.

Yet this is where we are.

In this basement. Where they’re all I see, and I can’t stop myself—or decipher or interpret the morality of loving my captors and their attention while also loathing how they’ve mangled _everything_.

The door beeps and a sigh breezes past Steve’s lips.

“We’ll get there,” he mutters, more to himself than to me.

My head tilts to the side as I try to figure out his meaning. To determine if he can see right through me, as if my thoughts are made of glass.

Bucky enters my room, though, and Steve reluctantly draws away. I watch the blond man push from the bed and greet his partner with a whispered word. They exchange a kiss. Bucky walks to the table, sitting down my bowl before turning his attention to me.

“Good morning, daddy,” I greet, automatically, standing from my bed and falling into place before his legs. Just keep the routine, keep them happy. Stave off the existential crisis for any other time.

His eyes roam over me, inspecting every inch, before wrapping an arm around my waist and placing me carefully on his lap.

“Good morning, babygirl,” he replies as he adjusts his grip on my waist, a kiss planting on my cheek. “Did you sleep alright?” I nod and he starts spooning me small bites of maple oatmeal, bits of chopped pecans and brown sugar sprinkled on top.

My eyes land on the package, grasping at distraction. Not small, but also not too big. Not something delivered in the mail, no address label or residual tape along the top seam. A storage box? Is it something from my apartment?

Bucky’s fingers softly pinch my side. I startle and turn to address him. A grin sits on his lips, affectionate and forgiving. My brow tilts as I try to think of what to say. The man sitting beneath me chuckles.

“So cute, Sugar,” he muses, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear, “You sure are something sweet.”

My teeth chew my lower lip, gaze falling to my hands in my lap. A finger tilts my head up, brushing over my jaw. The honest adoration in Bucky’s expression throws me off-kilter. My cheek presses to my shoulder, a pitiful attempt to hide. But he feeds me oatmeal and I accept bite after bite, until the metal spoon scrapes across the bottom of the bowl.

“You gonna be a good girl for my Stevie today?” he asks as he sets the utensil aside and blots a napkin around my mouth, leaving sweet stickiness sitting on my lips. His thumb rests under my chin, keeping my gaze level, and denying me the opportunity to look anywhere else but his face.

I nod as best as I can, eyes dropping to stare at his chin. A flash of movement catches my eye, his tongue peeking out of his mouth. I swallow hard, trying not to think about it, my own tongue longing to mirror the path over his lips.

He leans forward, draws my head down with his grip and kisses me. His tongue swipes over my bottom lip, licking away the brown sugar from my breakfast. I remain compliant, allowing him to prod and tease to his heart’s content. It’s just a nice sensation. I won’t— _can’t_ —think anything more of it.

His teeth nip my lower lip, gently, and I gasp in response. A low growl rumbles in his throat, a pleased sound, a purr. His hand reaches, threading fingers through my hair and angling me as he wills.

The longer he keeps kissing me, parting only for a heaving breath before returning, the harder I concentrate on my rules.

_Don’t deny affection. Keep them happy. Make good decisions. Be a good girl._

My body begins to shake, from either the strain of holding back or the indecision racing through me. Tears well in my eyes and Bucky draws away as a whimper escapes my throat.

“Oh, babygirl, you’re alright,” he assures, stroking my hair away from my face and pressing little kisses to my cheeks. “Daddy just had to get some sugar before he left. I’ve got some business to take care of.” He catches my gaze as I try to look away, hand still tangled in my hair and directing my face back toward him. He sighs, presses one more kiss to my swollen lips, and tenderly pushes me to stand.

On my feet, I remain still as a statue, unable to comprehend the emotions running through me. The tears keep welling, threatening to burst over my waterline and blur the world around me.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur, eyes glued to the floor trying to blink back the overwhelming moisture in my eyes.

Bucky draws me close, hands gripping my hips. “Don’t be sorry. You’re doing nothing wrong.” My eyes flick up to catch sight of his face, a compassionate grin sitting on his lips. “I gotta leave now, babygirl.”

I nod, hiding my face in the crook of his neck and pressing my body close. He wraps his arms around me, encasing me in warmth. My fingers cling to his shirt as he draws away, the vulnerability choking me.

Concern dances in Bucky’s eyes as he glances over me once more, “You’ll take care of our girl, right?” He asks Steve, not turning away from me.

“Of course,” Steve rumbles just behind my back. “Go,” he urges his husband as his arms snake over my waist. “I have to get her dressed and I promised she could open her present after breakfast.”

With one last, hesitant look, Bucky leaves with a beep, click of the door.

My sniffles pierce through the air as I try to get a hold of myself. And Steve just turns me around, cradling my face in his hands, watching enraptured as my tears drip down my cheeks. My hands reach up, grasping at his wrists, clinging to him for stability.

Everything feels so muddled, just from one kiss, and I thought I was fine. Really, I did. And now everything’s rattled out of place, shaken.

Steve leans forward, kissing each tear drop from my cheeks and licking them from his lips. My breaths shudder out of my lungs. But Steve’s eyes are kind as he waits for me to calm.

After all my tears are kissed away, he guides me over to the wardrobe. Allowing me time to turn my thoughts inward, he looks through the clothes, picking out options and holding them up to my body before replacing them and finding others.

I don’t pay attention, too focused on my reaction to Bucky’s kiss and the fragility gnawing at my guts. Perhaps my cycle was coming soon? Emotions always smack me harder just before my period starts. Or maybe the stress is hitting like a tsunami—convincing myself everything is manageable as the water recedes, only to be swallowed by the giant wave. Yeah, probably the stress—of being trapped, of walking on eggshells, of fighting with myself, of not knowing.

Steve finally turns to me, and strips me of my sleepwear and underwear. I follow his lead, his unspoken directions, stepping into the new pair of undies, feeling his fingers skim up my legs.

As his eyes come level with my most intimate place, I ask, “What am I?” The question simply bursting out as desire glazes over the man’s eyes.

Because though they’ve said they’ll protect me, keep me safe, take care of me, they’ve never stated explicitly what they want, my exact role. I’m not an idiot, but I can only guess and that can lead to missteps. And I _cannot go into that dark closet again_.

Steve’s eyes clear, gaze darting to my face as he stands. He hands me the matching bra for the set and allows me to place it over my breasts and secure the clasps. His eyes watch me, curiosity glinting deep alongside something else I can’t identify.

“What do you think you are?” he asks in return after a moment.

He reaches behind him and plucks the next item of clothing to adorn my body—a form fitting crop top patterned with adorable pastel dragons. As he guides it over my head, I think of a response.

“Spice,” I answer honestly, if hesitantly. “A little toy for the two of you to use to spice up your marriage—equivalent to a mug in your cupboard or a lamp in your den, a bedazzled stroker in your bedside drawer.”

Steve’s hands pause as he pulls the shirt over my chest, knuckles pressing into the side of my breasts. His gaze bores into me, brow furrowed and face perplexed.

“You think we took you to spice up our marriage? To use you and what? Discard you once we’re finished?” His tone is offended, his eyes hard, and I flinch.

That’s not quite what I meant. Bucky and Steve insist they want me forever, but want me as _what_? I can’t help but wonder—hell, it’s crucial to my survival. So far, they’ve been focused solely on my physical presence—content when I keep silent and only listen.

I mean, I’ve seen the looks, heated and lusty. They haven’t done anything, yet, making sure I’m comfortable, taking it slow, in their own way. But I see it coming. Bucky’s kiss and Steve laying in my bed are just precursors. So I need to know, to protect and prepare myself, if they’re going to pry into my shell and expect to extract my soft, emotional bits.

My head shakes as my lips part to stutter out, “That’s not—not what I meant.”

Steve smooths down the rest of my shirt, my belly exposed in more ways than one. He waits patiently for me to speak as I tug at the hem of the shirt, grabbing high-waisted shorts and helping me step into them. His fingers stroke my exposed flesh as I gather what I need to say. But everything is so scattered. Rule number three pops to the forefront of my mind: come to them if you’re feeling strong emotions. A frown tilts down the corners of my lips.

“I’ve just been so confused and unhappy and upset, and I don’t know what to do,” I confess, tears welling in my eyes, again. My face scrunches with frustration. Squeezing my eyes shut, I pray the tears will dry, to no such luck.

Steve shushes me, wrapping me in his strong arms, rocking us side to side as his hand rubs over my back. And I keep confessing into his chest, my crisis pouring out of me in a spew of word vomit. Emotions course through me—betrayal, anger, confusion, helplessness, guilt, insecurity, self-loathing, and more I can’t name.

And I know, kidnapping 101, don’t show weakness—keep your wits and never let them see you truly break. But I’m not built that way. I can’t keep it inside anymore, the poisonous muck churning in my stomach. So, I reveal each thought that has run through my head since I’ve been stuck down here, laying myself out for his dissection and manipulation, but not giving one single fuck if it means he will make it all better.

Steve just listens, holding me in a soothing embrace until I am done. “Thank you for telling me, sweetheart,” he mutters into my hair, pressing his lips to my temple. “It seems Bucky and I have done you somewhat of a disservice.”

Regret laces his statement and I look to his face. His brows tilt as he looks at me, imploring me to listen.

“But you have to realize how much we’ve done for you, will do for you,” he says, pressing kisses over every inch my face. His hands stay strong in their position holding my jaw, making sure to lock eyes with me as he speaks. “We’ll never leave or let you get hurt. The world outside is twisted and messy. We’ve seen what it does to people like you, and refuse to let you out there to be squashed.”

I nod, reluctantly, knowing even if I speak up, I won’t be heard. And it’s not like I can escape on my own to prove them wrong, even if I wanted to leave—biometric security won’t let me out of my room, let alone the house.

“As to what you mean to us,” Steve sighs, thumbs grazing over my cheeks as he takes a moment for contemplation. He looks off into the distance before explaining. “Bucky and I realized early on in our relationship that we’re the kind of people who have big hearts. We love love and aren’t willing to hold ourselves back.”

He smiles and steps back, guiding me to sit on the bed and kneeling before me. My breath hitches at his position, all sorts of notions whipping through my head as I wipe the dried tears from my cheeks. My free hand grasps the blanket on the bed, laying it over my lap and kneading it with my fingers.

As he slides thigh high socks over my feet and up my calves, he continues, “Over the years, we’ve tried different dynamics and configurations, but none of them were exactly right. They never worked out. Until you.” He smiles graciously, smoothing his hands over my legs and scooting forward on his knees to press between my thighs, forearms resting on the bed beside me. “So, I hope I convey this properly when I say, you’re our Sugar, our babygirl, our sweetheart, our baby, our princess.” His fingers lace through mine as he presses a kiss to my palm. “Our third. And we’re going to do everything in our power to keep it that way.”

I gulp, eyes glued to the top of his head as he leans over my legs, pushing the blanket away and nuzzling against my lap.

“Now,” he intones, breathing deeply. He leans forward to press a kiss to the skin of my exposed stomach. “We have to get your hair brushed and open your present.”

His arms pull me up and I sit at the vanity, mulling over his words as he brushes my hair gently and pulls back the sides for a half-up hairstyle.

“So,” I start, drawing out the word, “we’re a throuple?”

“Yes,” Steve replies immediately, securing my hair with a tie. His eyes concentrate on his task, though his brow furrows as he admits, “though I’m not fond of that word. Not from any judgement, mind you, I just think the word itself sounds awkward.”

He leans down and kisses the top of my head as he finishes, securing a crown barrette to the half-up ponytail for decoration.

“Perfect.” Contentment shines in his gaze as he meets my eye in the mirror. “Let’s open your present.”

My feet pad over to the table, sitting in front of the package and waiting for Steve to push it closer to me, giving me permission to open it. Once he does, I carefully pry open the top, peeking inside to find a stack of books.

My hands pull out novels—ones from my bookshelf that I always meant to get around to reading; adult coloring books—in a style that didn’t have designs too complicated for me to enjoy; a pack of twistable colored pencils—piled in a sparkly purple pencil box with more colors than I’ve ever seen in a standard pack; and a couple journals and pens—my favorite kind of each, tied together. My eyes widen in confused pleasure at receiving such gifts.

“Bucky and I also discussed maybe putting a couch and television down here in the corner, if you’re interested. We wanted to get you some puzzles, too, but we haven’t ordered them yet. We found a collection of Disney themed ones and wanted to make sure we got your favorite princess,” Steve explains as he watches me with delight dancing in his eyes.

“It’s either Sleeping Beauty or Snow White,” I mutter absentmindedly as my fingers flip through the pages of one of the coloring books.

Steve snorts, muffling a laugh in his hands. I glance up, brow quirked in a question as my eyes land on him. He waves a dismissive hand and leans back in his chair. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, Bucky’s just going to be really pleased to hear that.”

My head tilts, still mildly baffled as I turn back to the contents of the box. My hand strokes over each item until I come to the notebooks.

“What are these for?” I ask, pulling them close and tracing my finger around the design on one of the covers.

“So you can keep writing, sweetheart,” Steve says softly. “We know how much you love it and wanted to make sure you still had the opportunity to do so when you wanted.” He scoots his chair over to me, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me close.

My brow furrows as a little voice in my head pipes up, a question to be asked and an urge I can’t seem to shake. I pull away from Steve’s grip, though his fingers dig into my hip, reluctant to let me go. But I keep pulling and find my freedom by standing and stepping away. A scowl shadows his face as I do.

I bundle my notebooks in my arms, cradling them to my chest as I draw in a deep breath, move on instinct, and plant myself astride his lap, facing him. His eyes widen, brows raising as shock settles on his features, obviously not expecting this.

My eyes drop to the books in my clutch as I ask quietly, “Should I be writing stories for Peggy in here?”

Taking a minute to compose himself, he finally answers, “She’s been told you’re going on an extended leave of absence. And we’ll see if you want to restart your job there, once you’re more settled.” I nod and flit my gaze to his face, chewing nervously over my lower lip. He clears his throat and moves his hands to my waist, thumbs rubbing circles on my sides. “As for your other job, in case you’re curious, Bucky and I quit it for you. You don’t need it anymore and you never really liked it anyway.”

He’s not wrong. Proofreading paid well, but was tedious and I wouldn’t exactly call it rewarding. Accepting this change to my employment status is still hard, though. Finding jobs that built and utilized my expertise was a struggle, and letting them go is a hard pill to swallow.

But Steve said I might be able to keep writing for the magazine, so I tuck that in the back of my mind to bring me comfort.

“Should I write about my life, then?” I wonder, shifting on Steve’s lap as my hands begin to lightly sweat.

“I suppose,” Steve says, dragging his hands around my waist and shoving them into the back pockets of my shorts, pulling our hips flush. “You can write about whatever you want, Sugar.”

“Well,” I start nervously, poking and prodding toward an answer I can’t convince myself I want to know. “If I write about my life, you and Bucky can read it and find out more about me.”

Steve’s chest rumbles with a chuckle. He smiles as he stops, noticing my face deflating into a frown.

“We don’t need to know any more about you,” he relays. “We know all we need to.”

My lips purse as an objection starts to spill from my lips. “But—”

“We know where you were born,” he interrupts with a grin, gaze soft and indulgent. “We know how many times you moved as a child, and when your best friend lived right across the street from you. We know about your parent’s divorce. Your best friend in high school. Who you went with to prom. Your years in college studying writing. Your favorite professor and the classes you hated most. How you came to the city in search of a career and how you got to your lowest point.” He leans forward, kissing right below my bottom lip, near the right corner. “We even know how you got this scar when you were little and running around the house, tripping and biting through your lip with your tooth when you fell.” He leans back, drinking in my stunned expression like a fine wine. “So you write about whatever _you_ want, sweetheart. Bucky and I just love reading your work.”

We sit in silence as it sinks in. And I realize the gravity of my mistake, why they were content to let me listen the past two days, never asking me to share my own life stories.

They already knew everything.


	4. Day 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE THE NEW TAGS!  
> (btw, though I know this story toes the line between a daddy kink and DDlg, I won’t be tagging it as the latter, seeing as there is no presence of littlespace. Also, I won’t be using Stockholm Syndrome as a tag since that syndrome dictates that a victim not know their captor, so it doesn’t apply. If you think I should include them in the tag list anyway, let me know.)
> 
> Well, here’s the next chapter. I finished it this past weekend, but have been editing it for the last three days. Consistency when writing a serial work is definitely a new challenge. 
> 
> (also i finished writing the next chapter before this one was done and i just need to edit it before i post it. 😱 so shocking!)
> 
> Let me know what you think!

This is the fourth day I’ve woken up with _urges_ —lower lips slick with arousal, aching with emptiness, gasping for release. To say frustration is building would be an understatement. And each day my rationality slips away a little bit more as I’m left dangling over a pit of desire and lust.

I turn over in my bed, bury my face into the pillow, and suppress the urge to scream and rip it to pieces with my teeth. Because there are dreams, too. God, the dreams. Hot and filthy and more graphic by the night. Which leaves me feeling ready to combust at the slightest provocation.

The door beeps and my eyes snap over to it before it clicks open. Steve and Bucky stride in, looking absolutely sinful—shirts stretched tight over their muscles, and pants taut over their thighs. I tramp down a frustrated groan before it can rumble in my throat, ready to bury my head back in my pillows until I suffocate.

Bucky steps up to the side of my bed and runs his fingers through my hair—effectively quieting the voice in my head that wallows in dissatisfaction. And I can’t help but lean into his touch, purring like a cat.

“Good morning, Sugar,” he croons.

His knee lands on the bed beside me, sinking into the plush blankets and dipping the bed so gravity pulls my body toward him. And his fingers keep brushing through my hair, lulling me toward serenity. “Such a pretty li’l thing, the best babygirl a fella could ever ask for.”

His finger crooks under my chin, tilting my gaze up. He examines me, eyes boring deep. My teeth clench, grinding in my jaw as I try to suppress the desire licking toward my core. Just the way Bucky scrutinizes me, like he can see right into the very depths of my soul—a shudder rushes down my spine. His eyes leave mine, looking to his husband with a pleased smile and a nod.

Warm, soft hands rest on my waist, pulling me out of Bucky’s thrall, turning me over and focusing my attention on their owner.

Steve’s form presses right against me, lining up the planes of our bodies until we match each other. His heat washes over me, combining with my own and blazing bright. It’s lush agony, bordering on too much. My thighs squeeze, trying to ignore the uncomfortable slickness in my underwear.

“Did you have sweet dreams, princess?”

“Yes, Steve,” I reply meekly, keeping my gaze away from his face and focusing on his chest.

“Good,” he muses absently.

His hand begins stroking up and down my back, each pass venturing lower and lower toward my ass. I wiggle, fighting back the thrumming anticipation in my veins.

Eventually, his ministrations land his hand completely on my rear. He takes a moment, patting the swell and kneading the excess flesh there. My hips jolt forward in surprise and a squeak slips over my lips as he squeezes. But he keeps his hand firmly in place, patting my bottom in a steady, comforting thud.

Dragging deep breaths into my lungs, I settle and sink into the sensation. Be a good girl. Enjoy what you can. Control yourself.

After a quiet moment, my body melting into his, a faint chuckle shakes the blond’s chest. My eyes dart to his face, wondering what I’ve done wrong, but his attention is set on his husband, still resting on the bed behind me. There’s triumph in Steve’s eyes, sparkling like a precious stone.

My brow furrows as I try to discern where it comes from, the victory he’s won. There are various scenarios that run through my head, flickering quickly to life, one after another. They start to bubble and froth like a rabid animal, tinged by my lingering arousal. I blink them away, sinking my hands into the tight fabric of Steve’s shirt for stability.

“Let’s get you changed and ready, sweetheart,” Steve finally says, looking back to me with a tender smile. “You’re gonna meet a new friend today.”

My eyes widen as he retreats from the bed, the shift behind me indicating Bucky’s done the same. My blood turns cold as ice. A _friend_? What does _that_ mean? My mind races in this new direction as I push myself to stand.

Breath begins to heave from my lungs, lips compressed in a thin line to conceal just how much I’m spiraling toward all-encompassing horror. But like the observant creatures they are, Bucky and Steve notice the change immediately. Their expressions shifting from loving delight to impenetrable focus. And I realize I have seconds to voice my dilemma before they accuse me of hiding something from them, breaking one of their rules—number 3 to be exact.

“Is my new friend,” I pause struggling to find the words. How do you nicely describe kidnapping and imprisonment? Having men you’ve trusted and cared for ensnare you in a labyrinth of deception and domination? “Like me?” I eventually conclude.

“Her name is Natasha,” Bucky informs distractedly as he picks out my outfit for the day. “She’s a beautician. You might have even seen her stopping by The Line for her coffee and croissant.” He walks over, putting my clothes on the bed and beginning to undress me. Though he doesn’t answer my question, relief swells in my chest. “She’s hard to miss.” When my head cocks in question, he kisses my nose and replies, “you’ll see.”

“She’s going to give you a whole treatment from head to toe,” Steve explains from his position, sitting at my vanity with eyes laser-focused on me.

He smiles brightly, hungrily, as Bucky reaches for my underwear, pulling it slowly down my thighs, the slick fabric sticking slightly to my folds.

I bite back a distressed sound of embarrassment, looking away from them both and feeling heat crawl over my cheeks. Bucky’s hands caress my hips.

“Don’t be embarrassed, baby love,” he rasps, voice husky and ragged in my ear. “It’s perfectly natural.” His lips and teeth drag over my jaw, and I startle back.

His fingers pinch my hips in admonishment, and I grab hold of myself, freezing my form for him to enjoy. They know what’s best. Don’t question their actions. My hands clench into fists at my side.

“Good girl,” he whispers into my ear.

Delight sinks into my skin at his praise. My knees knock and slightly give as he steps away to grab my new undies and bra.

He presses them into my hands, gently ordering, “Go into the bathroom and get ready.” His lip quirks in a enigmatic smile as he steps back toward Steve. I pause, waiting to see if this is some kind of test. Bucky, especially, always dresses me. But he repeats his instruction, a quiet, “go on, babygirl”. And my feet hurry to obey.

I hesitate by the door, fingers clutching the handle, unsure if I’m allowed to close it. My eyes instantly seek theirs for guidance. Steve nods with a smile.

The door clicks shut and my breath whooshes out of my lungs, disbelief sweeping through me. Privacy, it’s an absolute luxury.

I quickly clean away the cooling arousal between my legs and tug on the new undergarments, taking a moment to brush my teeth and stare at myself in the mirror. I’m really celebrating five minutes alone in a bathroom. _Don’t_ —don’t think about it.

I inhale deeply. The door unlatches and my feet shuffle out, eyes widening at the sight I stumble upon.

Bucky pins Steve against the vanity, one hand in his husband’s blond hair, craning his neck back to lock gazes. Steve’s eyes shine glassy, his lips kiss bitten. Bucky breathes heavily, face painted with burning delight. My mouth dries as I drink in the scene, shifting on my feet nervously at imposing on such an intimate moment, and doing everything in my power to restrain the rising arousal from such a display.

Bucky murmurs something to Steve—some kind of definitive statement, too quiet to hear—and the brunet’s eyes flick to me, standing frozen in the doorway. He steps back from Steve’s parted thighs and toward the dress he’s laid on the bed.

As he drapes it over my head and smooths it down my body, I murmur, “I’m sorry I interrupted, daddy.”

“Don’t be,” he pacifies, brushing his hands up my sides and guiding me to the bed so he can put on my socks. He throws a glance over his shoulder at Steve before turning back to his task. “Stevie and I were just discussing maybe having some cuddle time with you, later.”

“Cuddle time?” I ask with a heavy swallow.

“We thought we might introduce you to it. It’s something you’ll come to love,” he assures as he cups my face in his palms. “We’ll cuddle up nice and close, make sure you feel safe and precious. Just what every babygirl needs.” He presses kisses across my face until I start to squirm, biting back a smile. He draws away with a laugh, happiness shining in his eyes.

My heart flutters in my chest as my head bobs. Dropping my gaze to the side, my brow furrows. I expected this, this euphemistic ‘cuddle time’, but I never imagined the overwhelming thrill I would feel at its arrival.

Recognizing the spark of excitement igniting in me, my blood drains slowly from my face. An unsettled gnawing works over my stomach throughout breakfast as Bucky feeds me bites of flaky pastry, chunks of fruit, and scrambled eggs. As a result, I fidget, the whole time, restless on Bucky’s lap.

A line furrows his brows, worry and displeasure etched in the wrinkle. My body stills as I notice. I attempt to quickly regain my composure, pinching my eyes shut for the length of a deep breath. Eyes fluttering open, my hands settle on Bucky’s face, moving over his skin, smoothing out the concerned crease as if he’s made of clay.

“Thank you for breakfast. It was delicious,” I declare, tone as grateful and sweet as I can make it, to appease him and excuse my uneasy behavior.

His eyes clear as he rubs his hands over my hips, pulling me into a hug and rocking us on the chair. Bucky remains silent, but I relax instantly at his quiet display of forgiveness.

Meanwhile, my mind shrieks in reprimand, incensed that my focus remains split between my carnal needs and the troubling mores of our relationship. Panic builds deep inside, looking for a weakness to break through. Even now I’m starting to crack, my internal mess spilling out and affecting how I act. And if I continue on this path, I might break completely and be left with consequences I cannot handle.

Determination steels my mind. I just have to get through the rest of today. I’ll take matters into my own hands tonight. Once Steve and Bucky leave, I’ll be able to take care of my libidinous problem. Regain some control. Prepare to discuss my personal reticence with them. Because being their perfect, affectionate girl is one thing, but I’m not sure I’m ready to be their lover—despite my hormones insisting otherwise.

“Come on, princess,” Steve calls as he moves to the loveseat—new, brought down just yesterday. He sits on the right side, slinging his arm over the plush back and waiting for me patiently. “We can work on our puzzle while we wait for your friend.”

Bucky helps me stand from his lap, rubbing my side affectionately as I scamper to his husband. After a quick glimpse of the man cleaning the breakfast dishes, I place myself beside Steve on the couch, tucking my legs beneath me.

His arm instantly wraps around my shoulders and drags me closer—but I never expected anything less. His focus turns into the puzzle spread across the table, separated into piles.

We’ve been working on the 1000-piece color spectrum for two days, now. Steve brought it down and figured it was an activity we could bond over. I was just happy that I had something productive to do with my time. Instead of focusing on the temptation to bury my fingers in my sex until I alleviate this need that’s been plaguing me.

As we begin working silently, my desire finally calms to a manageable level, easily pushed to the background. Curiosity takes its place, spawned by a distinct yearning. My teeth begin chewing over my lip as I contemplate how to approach the ideas forming in my head. Knowing that these men want to maintain dominance, but wondering if they will concede to me, just for small requests.

Placing two edge pieces together, I swallow thickly and close my eyes, with the hope that if I just blurt it out without looking, somehow it’ll be easier.

“Maybe,” I begin, voice dying off on the word before I steel my courage and try again, “maybe tomorrow we can have breakfast all together?”

Plates clink by the table and my eyes flit over to Bucky. He observes me for a moment from across the room. Buckling under the scrutiny of his gaze, I turn back to the puzzle, fingering a piece, pretending to look for its match.

“I just thought maybe it would be nice?” I hedge, “Eating all together?” My voice trails off, the confidence I mustered diminishing to nothing.

Steve’s hand smooths over my shoulder, grasping me at the nape of my neck and squeezing gently in reassurance. Peeking over at him, my eyes land on his lips, spread in a grin, face angled toward his husband.

Bucky’s footsteps approach, stopping directly behind the couch. “We’ll certainly think about it,” he states. Fingers reach under my chin, tilting my head back. My eyes lock with his, hardened and sharp, suspicious, as he leans forward, brushing his lips against mine. “But don’t think this is a way to stop me from feeding you, baby.”

My head shakes as dread drips from the top of my spine. Maybe that had been part of my reasoning in suggesting it—I’ll admit to that. But his insistence on hand-feeding is something I find myself growing more comfortable with, day by day. The main reason I brought it up is that it feels so strange to be the only one eating while they just _watch_.

“Of course not, daddy.” My neck aches, stretching to angle back, but I don’t struggle to be free.

“Good girl,” he praises, expression easily breaking into something much more pleasant, kissing me quickly once more and returning to the table to finish cleaning. My cheeks flush as I watch his retreat.

Silence hangs heavy in the air for a minute, Steve and I placing together puzzle pieces until the door sounds behind us.

Pressure weighs down on my shoulders, stress building. I feel like I’ve done something wrong. Even though I haven’t broken a rule, iciness still freezes my veins. In an attempt to dispel it, I concentrate on another, simpler request.

“And, maybe,” I mumble, glimpsing Steve in the corner of my eye, hoping for a better reaction, “we can get a 3D puzzle to build together? One that we can display and won’t have to break?” I combine two edge pieces, snapping the linked sections to create one of the corners.

A strong arm wraps around my waist, pulling me up to sit atop Steve’s thighs. A yip bursts from me in surprise and my hands scramble for a hold, dropping puzzle pieces on the table and clutching around the man’s shoulders.

“That sounds like an amazing idea, princess. I’d love to build it with you,” he gushes. He hugs me close to his chest, the joy rushing through him, pumping out his pores like radiant sunshine. “You have no idea how happy it makes me that you’re adjusting so well.” He buries his face in my hair, inhaling deeply and pressing kisses all along the side of my head. “Knew you would want it just as much as we do, once you understood.”

My lips crack in a fragile grin, mildly disconcerted with his statement. That’s what they want, isn’t it? Me, succumbing willingly to their desires. And I’m so close, already.

He spends the rest of our time working on the puzzle, nuzzling into my neck and humming in happiness. I disregard him, adjusting my position as little as possible, feeling his length hardening beneath me.

But then his hips buck slightly, slotting himself at the juncture of my thighs and creating friction. Arousal surges back to the forefront of my mind, quick as a light switch flicking on. My eyes squeeze shut and I bite my lip until I taste copper, trying to keep it at bay and cling to my sensibilities.

“Don’t do that,” Steve chides softly, pulling my lip from between my teeth and wiping away the blood. “You don’t have to worry. I always take care of you, Sugar, don’t I?”

I nod, feeling my mind beginning to drift toward hazy heat. His fingers dig into my hips as he manipulates my position. My thighs end up straddling his legs, chest pushing against his as I breathe. His nose traces over my jaw and down my neck, his hands drifting under the short skirt of my dress and landing on my waist under the material. A shiver wracks down my spine at the contact and my hips jerk upward, away. His tongue clicks in his mouth as he yanks me back down with considerable strength.

“Let me take care of you before Natasha gets here,” he implores, face sweet and soft, beseeching. “I’ll make you feel so good. I know you’ve been struggling the past few days. You can’t hide it from us.” One of his hands reappears from beneath my dress, tangling in my hair and angling my head toward him.

Without waiting one second for a response, his mouth mercilessly devours mine, clashing our lips together and subduing my tongue with his. The taste of my breakfast and his morning coffee mingles on our tastebuds.

My fingers grab at his shirt, searching for clarity, sanity, _something_. Heat burns through my body, rising higher and higher. It’s intoxicating, a head rush.

Yet ringing like an alarm in the back of my mind is my reluctance to keep on this course. The truth remains. Bucky and Steve are obviously unwell. Excusing their action of kidnapping with their desire to cherish me. Insinuating we’re in a relationship, without my genuine input. It’s not healthy.

And what does it say about me that I want to get lost in their delusion? Cast away my doubts in exchange for their affection? Am I ready to make that commitment despite what I know? And does my choice really matter when it’s going to happen anyway? Is it worse if I choose this turn of fate, or if I merely permit it and end up enjoying it?

A brief glimpse of lucidity doesn’t resolve any of my questions, though it reveals uncomfortable facts in its wake.

I want Steve to wreck me, leave me panting and gasping in sated bliss. But at the same time, a small voice inside still argues I’m not ready. These two men, taking care of me, loving me, building a life with me, is the dream. But there are still things I must settle before yielding.

In my submission, my heart will unequivocally become theirs. Do they deserve it? Can I enable them?

Once I acquiesce, there will be no walls left to defend me. Everything will be consumed by them, nothing left to guard against it. I’ll burn with them, for eternity. A supernova of sin and surrender.

The thought shoots through me like a firework. In this moment, with Steve’s talented tongue and his exhilarating passion, words cannot convey how much I _want_ that _._

Steve moans deep in his throat as he swallows my needy whimper. His hips grind against me, his cock hard and restrained in his jeans. My fingers dig into his shoulders, slowly releasing every inhibition, if only he’ll just keep going.

Beep, whir, click.

The door opens and Steve heaves an agitated sigh as our lips separate, a curse muttered under his breath. His forehead presses to mine as we steady our breathing. I flush with the realization of our position, with mild dismay over my impulsivity.

Bucky enters the room. My eyes glance over, wary of this new friend, Natasha. She struts in right beside my brunet captor, confident and stunning. Her hair flashes a vibrant red as she turns her attention to me.

And I _have_ seen her before. I’ve written about her, at least twice, back in the café, when she would stride through the quaint business, silently commanding attention. She was brilliant, and the world was a moth attracted to her flame.

My lips stick, glued together, unsure of how the next moments should proceed. Anxious eyes land on Bucky as my fingers grasp tighter on Steve’s collar. Sensing my distress, the blond’s hand withdraws from beneath my dress, landing on my back to rub over the fabric.

“Sugar, this is Natasha,” Bucky initiates as the two walk behind the couch.

Steve shifts under me, bulge brushing against my thigh as he turns to be able to greet them. “Hey, Nat,” he says with a too cheery smile, a slight trace of vexation marring his tone. “Didn’t expect you to get here so soon.”

“It’s nearly 11 o’clock,” she responds with a quirked brow. “I’m right on time.”

My lips part, hearing her speak for the first time. Her voice sounds like smoke floating in the air. It’s sultry and smooth without the illusion of effort.

Steve grumbles to himself, breaking the spell of this gorgeous woman standing in my room.

“It’s nice to meet you, Natasha,” I quietly pronounce.

“Hello, Sugar,” she greets with a kind smile. “Shall we get started?”

I nod, though I’m reluctant to leave Steve’s lap and expose his arousal to his friend. My hands withdraw from his shoulders, clasping together as I look to him. Concerned nervousness furrows my brow as I await his direction. A sheepish grin crosses his features as he glances to his husband. My eyes follow and Bucky smirks.

“Come on, babygirl,” Bucky coaxes playfully, “Nat’s got a lot to do. Don’t keep her waiting.” Steve rolls his eyes at his husband and pats reassuringly on my thigh.

With shaky legs, I stand and step away. Natasha hums and turns quickly toward my vanity, a large black duffel bag slung over her shoulder. She beckons me over with an outstretched hand.

“We can get started on your hair while your boys get my other supplies from upstairs,” she says as she unzips her bag and produces various salon tools; scissors, a blow drier, and the like. My step falters, eyes filling with apprehension. “I’ll take good care of you,” Natasha promises, still holding her hand out for me to take. “Your daddy and Steve trust me implicitly.”

Her head tilts, waiting for my reaction. Though, frankly, I don’t know how to respond. So instead, I simply sit without a word.

Natasha drapes a salon cape over my body and squeezes my shoulder reassuringly before beginning. She works precisely, trimming off dead ends and ensuring the cut is symmetrical. Bucky and Steve carry down a foldable table and chair, leaving quietly once they set it up.

Natasha chats effortlessly as she checks her work. She talks about the weather, celebrity gossip, new movies, and other mundane topics. And I love it. It makes me feel so normal, like I’m not stuck in some basement but actually visiting a stylist at a salon. Her voice helps, honestly, friendly and soothing as she makes it.

She finishes my hair and heats up a pot of wax. She reassures me as best she can as it melts, producing a spool of thread for my eyebrows and getting to work epilating the stray hairs.

The first time I open my mouth to speak, I comment about my propensity for tears, a warning as she works.

She chuckles, mumbling out, “You must be an easy crier,” around the thread. At my nod, she snorts and says, “Steve must love that.”

Heat crawls up my cheeks in response. But she keeps plucking, tossing the used thread in the trash when she finishes.

She moves swiftly to waxing, stirring the strangely appetizing substance in its pot and instructing me to lie on her table. She slathers wax over my skin and strips away the hair on my arms, my underarms, my legs, before proceeding to my bikini area. Despite my twitching, she doesn’t stop, clinically professional as she works.

And I try, I do really try not to curse, but it’s pulled from my soul like an exorcized demon as the pain registers with each strip. Natasha simply continues in her task, knowing I’ll settle once it’s done. Though she does crack, once or twice, chuckling in response to my colorful language.

“All done, Sugar,” she soothes, returning to her bag and drawing out a bottle of oil.

She slicks it over her hands and massages it into the areas she waxed. My eyes flutter open, watching as she takes care of my skin. All of the hair gone, save for a trimmed patch of hair on my pubic mound, which I pointedly ignore.

A shaky sigh blows over my lips as tension leaks away from my muscles. She helps me sit up and find my clothes, washing her hands in the bathroom as I re-dress and sit back at the vanity.

She reappears, wiping her hand on a towel, and slathers a pretty green mud mask over the skin of my face.

“While that dries, I can start on your nails,” she explains as she brings her chair over to sit beside mine. “You’re getting a pedicure and acrylic manicure. Any ideas for a theme?”

My brows raise in surprise. Not expecting to be asked a question for my preference. But buzzing with the possibilities.

Her hands find bottles, brushes, polishes, and all sorts of things in her duffel. Her eyes expectant when they turn back to me.

“I like constellations,” I mumble the first thing that comes to mind.

And a little over two and a half hours later, in my best estimation, I’m sitting on my couch, gazing at my manicure and the beautiful design Natasha created with polish and glitter. The woman left with a smile when she finished, Bucky and Steve walking her out with her equipment.

The men have yet to return, but I don’t worry, a yawn cracking my jaw. Snuggling into the cushions of the couch, I close my eyes to relax, just for a minute.

A beep draws me away from my nap. My hand rubs over my eyes as I sit up and look around. Groggy, and sure I’ve slept longer than I intended.

Bucky enters the room, three plates balanced on his arms, which he sets on the table. As soon as they’re down, he strides over with a beaming grin, and grabs me into his arms, spinning us in dizzy circle.

I balk at his strength, moving without a huff of exertion or a stumble. They’ve picked me up before, sure. But it’s still shocking, every single time. I don’t know that I’ll ever get used to it. Though I’ll admit to already loving being cradled so close in their embrace.

Bucky sits us comfortably in our chair at the table, tucking a stray hair behind my ear with a peck on my cheek. Then Steve enters my room, the door whirring behind him. He hurries over and joins us, a bit flustered as he places a digital clock off to the side.

Bucky begins feeding me chicken and vegetables, taking bites off his own plate for himself while I chew. They take turns chatting about what they’ve done, asking about my experience with Natasha, and admiring my nails.

And by bath time, my morning disquiet has fluttered away, all but forgotten as Steve helps me undress.

He smooths his hands up my sides, dragging my dress away from my body and over my head. My bra follows closely after. Then he drops to his knees, holding my calf as he removes my socks carefully.

Bucky putters behind us, filling the tub and grabbing out each bottle for my bath. But as Steve peels off my left sock, I lose my balance briefly, flailing my arms as I begin to fall. The brunet instantly catches me in his firm grasp and holds me steady. He squeezes his arm around my waist and I quietly thank him. Even as Steve’s fingers slip under the waistband of my undies to tug them down my thighs.

Watching his movements, I get the first real glimpse of the patch of hair Natasha left on my mound, a small heart sitting right above my slit. My eyes widen, stunned by it.

Steve glances up to my expression, leaning forward to press a delicate kiss against the little patch of hair.

“This was my idea,” he reveals proudly. I gulp, at a loss for words.

A minute ticks by in silence.

“You like Stevie’s idea, baby?” Bucky whispers into my ear, encouraging me to speak.

“It’s very pretty, Steve,” I say, running my fingers through his hair, acrylic nails scratching lightly at his scalp. And that’s a new sensation that I’ll have to get used to.

With a gratified smile spreading across his lips, Steve stands, my hand dropping from his scalp to his shoulder as he rises.

“Let’s get you in your bath, Sugar,” Bucky prompts, guiding my body toward the filled tub.

The brunet helps me step in, lowering me slowly into the peachy pink water. My eyes catch sight of Steve slowly stripping out of his shirt and jeans, approaching to sit behind me. As I scoot forward, anticipation filling me to the brim for my bath time hair care, Bucky takes the cup and pours water over my scalp.

My head tilts back, and Steve’s hands catch my neck. I sigh, deeply satisfied with the support as his finger start lathering shampoo through my strands. My mind instantly drifts off to a heavenly place of quiet tranquility.

“Babygirl?” Bucky asks, his hands swirling in the water as Steve rinses the suds out of my hair.

I hum in response, not even bothering to open my eyes.

“I’m gonna take care of your body now, alright?” Though he phrases it as a question, I know beyond a doubt that it’s not.

My head bobs in Steve’s grasp, accepting Bucky’s proposition. Though I’m not too terribly sure why he’s rushing through the routine. Usually they draw it out, using any excuse to prolong it.

Steve rests my head against his knee once he finishes combing the conditioner into my hair, letting it sit so the moisture can absorb.

And then I feel Bucky’s fingers sneaking up my skin under the water, on a direct course toward my center. I jolt in surprise, my hips shifting away.

“What?” I ask, eyes fluttering open and confusion washing over me. “What are you doing?” My gaze snaps to Bucky, though Steve’s hand behind my neck keeps me in place.

Bucky’s eyes flick to his husband as he smoothly replies, “We’re taking care of you.” His voice purrs, throaty and excited as his left hand slides further up my thigh, finding the soft petals of my sex. His eyes glint in the bathroom light as he watches my face. “We’ll always give you what you need—whatever you need. And you need this, babygirl.”

Heat crawls up my cheeks, excitement warming in my belly. I remain frozen beneath his gaze, caught in a snare staring at my predator. But when Bucky’s fingers prod deeper, parting my folds and seeking out my points of pleasure, my body acts without thought.

My hips squirm, hoping to dislodge him from his position at my increasingly slick entrance. Yet his fingers persist.

“No,” weakly mewls from my lips as I wriggle, unsure why I’m even struggling.

Bucky croons in response, caressing me with his right hand, smoothing over my knee. Steve’s hands subtly change their position, cradling my face as his lips spill sweet nothings. Both hoping to mollify me. When their efforts don’t work, they exchange a brief glance, one I barely catch.

Pop! A light smack lands right on the fleshy part of my cheek. The sting snaps me out of my resistance as my jaw drops on a gasp. My eyes dart up, meeting Steve’s troubled gaze as he tilts my head and examines my cheek with keen eyes.

It sinks in slowly.

Steve slapped me.

To calm me down.

And I—

Heat blooms across my whole body. I liked it.

The hard look clears from his eyes after a moment, pleased with my reaction, my immediate obeisance. He leans down, pressing a kiss to my cheek, the warmth of his hand still lingering.

An apology sits heavy on my tongue, but then my mind blanks as Bucky’s fingers sink into me, parting my walls and rubbing against them. The wince flashes across my face at the initial pinch before I relax into the sensation, the fullness.

“You’re alright, Sugar,” Bucky assures as his thumb descends to play with my clit. “Just let daddy play with this pretty, pink pussy.”

My breath hitches as pleasure sparks down my spine, centering on the movement of his hand. He watches my every move, biting his lower lip with his teeth. And my hips begin to writhe. It’s a delicious torment as he continues playing with me, taking his time, letting it build slowly.

Impatience prickles at my skin, aching for the release and the wave of endorphins. Because I can feel it creeping closer, that gnawing despair that cries out against accepting this even though I yearn for it.

“Bucky, daddy, please,” I beg, voice cracking with the words. My hand reaches out to clamp on his free hand, hanging over the lip of the tub. The other wraps around Steve’s thigh, fingers digging into his skin. He hisses in response. “I need more.”

Bucky groans, carefully adding another finger and speeding his ministrations. My hips buck, thrusting toward him, and I cry out.

“That’s right. Gonna give my baby everything she needs,” he grunts, voice gravelly and eyes lust-blown.

He nudges his hand closer, the heel of his palm grinding into my bundle of nerves, so sweet, and I’m vaulting over the edge.

My core clamps on his fingers as I cum, a whimpering cry spilling over my lips as my legs spasm. Water sloshes in the tub, threatening to spill over. Steve moans quietly, his eyes boring into me from above, drinking in each twitch of my body.

Bucky gently withdraws his fingers, preening as he caresses my face with his right hand. He drags me into a kiss, a whispered “perfect,” rushing over his lips as he backs away, preparing the washcloth with body wash and letting Steve rinse away the conditioner still in my hair.

Willing acceptance washes over me as they finish my bath and dry off my body, slathering my skin with lotion and dressing me in my pajamas. The feeling takes me off to sleep, as they place me between them on the bed and snuggle up close.

Rule number one, Steve and Bucky know best. My questions, my scruples, don’t matter anymore. They’ve dragged me down now. The supernova burns. All that’s left to do is to allow them to carve and chip away until I’m left their masterpiece.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! I love feedback. 
> 
> Also if there’s anything you’d like to see in the story, leave it in a comment. If it works with the rest of the story, it might just end up in here!
> 
> Thanks for reading!  
> 💜  
> Also, if you want to drop by and say ‘hi’, here’s my [Tumblr!](http://foxgloveprincess.tumblr.com/)


	5. Day 8 Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awakening in the pre-dawn hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MIND THE TAG UPDATE!  
> New for this chapter: Somnophilia, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Intercrural Sex, and Unreliable Narrator (which will play a huge role in this story as the reader stays with Steve and Bucky)
> 
> Remember when I said that there would be all different lengths of chapters, from 1,000-5,000 words, and then proceeded to post chapters that were pushing 4,000-6,000? Well, I finally wrote a shorter chapter! 😂
> 
> Broken into two parts, sort of. There will be a Day 8 Morning and Evening chapter. They’re related and on the same day, but in my mind there’s a shift that makes them different, so I wanted to split them up. 
> 
> Already working on Evening, so hopefully, I’ll be able to post it sometime next week!

It wasn’t waking up, not really. More like drifting up to awareness, cresting into consciousness.

The room is dark when my eyes peek open, confused as to why my mind has decided to be on alert. My eyes drift to the digital clock now sitting on my bedside table—a thoughtful gift from Steve. _3:06 AM_.

A petulant little sound whines out of my chest. It’s too damn early for this. I bury my face back into my pillow and reach out for my stuffed animal. Instead, my fingers brush against a warm figure. And I remember.

Steve and Bucky joined me in my bed last night, tucking me close and falling asleep. I’m half surprised they actually stayed. Now, Steve curls close to me, relaxed, his breath fanning across my face as he slumbers.

A firm hand strokes over my hip from behind, following the curve from my side to my front, back and forth.

“Go back to sleep, babygirl,” Bucky whispers in my ear, voice gravelly and deep. “It’s not time for you to wake up, yet.”

His lips press kisses to my shoulder and the nape of my neck, coaxing me back toward the precipice of sleep. I hum in delight, burrowing deeper into my blankets and content to shut my eyes until sleep overtakes me. And then, as my legs shift, I feel it.

A throaty groan breezes over my nape, confirming my suspicions. Bucky’s cock is nestled, bare, between my thighs. It twitches slightly, wedged between my lower lips and nudging lightly against my clit.

And I’m soaked, through my panties and the gusset of my pajamas. The cotton clinging like a second skin to my folds. The slick drips down my thighs, far more than humanly possible, obviously aided by added lubrication. My brow furrows as I feel it, silky and wet.

Bucky’s hand keeps caressing me, soothing away the tension in my body, but not my confusion.

“Bucky?” I question quietly, turning over my shoulder, angling to see his face.

His eyes shine as the light of the clock washes over his features. My heartbeat picks up, thundering in my ears as his lips crack into a wicked smile washed in red. But his hand keeps its path over my hip, calming my fears as his face approaches mine.

His teeth nibble on my ear as he explains, “I’m sorry, Sugar, we didn’t get cuddle time tonight, so daddy just needed some sleepy cuddles.”

My throat bobs with a hard swallow.

Bucky’s fingers skirt up my ribs, brushing over the sides of my breasts. A shiver runs down my spine. Then striking like a cobra, his hand clamps over my wrists, locking them in position, folded close to my chest. A whimper works its way out of my throat as his hips begin to grind his thick cock against me.

“That’s right, just like this,” Bucky murmurs, pressing a kiss to my neck as his body shifts slightly over and pins me to the bed.

Restricted within his embrace, he ruts against my core, hot and hard and delicious. My thighs squeeze around his length, gliding vigorously against my sex. His hips bounce against my ass, rocking us like clashing waves in an ocean storm. Knocking against my clit with each thrust, over and over again. My breath hitches, little mewls of desire spilling over my lips.

“Don’t wake up Stevie, babygirl,” He shushes me gently, a smirk in his tone.

My eyes dart to Steve’s shadowed face. I can’t see him, gauge whether he’s asleep or awake, but I pray for the former, though the likelihood is small. My face buries into the pillows, muffling my sounds as Bucky pushes me closer toward an orgasm, the knot coiling tighter and tighter in my belly. My core clenches, empty, aching for Bucky’s attention deep inside.

“He’s been so good for our special love. Had to help him while you were with Nat.” He grunts right in my ear, teeth nipping at my pulse point. “He was gorgeous, so needy and desperate. You should have seen him, cumming with your name on his lips and my cock buried deep in his ass.”

My body wiggles, stretching against Bucky, trying to extend taut muscles and find relief for the tension. But Bucky’s right there, holding me down, caging me in, unrelenting in his pursuit of pleasure.

“You like that, don’t you. Knowing that he wants you, waiting so patient until you’re ready,” Bucky asks gruffly, panting heavy in my ear. My head bobs in a nod, rubbing roughly against the fabric of the pillow. “Daddy couldn’t wait for you, though. Seeing you look so sweet and innocent. I couldn’t resist.” My lips part, answering in a soft, panting whine. Bucky’s hips stutter briefly as he presses his body tighter to mine. “Jesus, Sugar, so close.” His voice cracks at the end with a moan.

My teeth gnaw on my lower lip, holding back my plea until I feel his body tensing. It bursts from me and I beg, “Please let me cum, daddy. Please.” My body presses back against him, my thighs clutching his cock and my ass grinding back, searching for that last bit of friction to send me over.

“I’ll give you everything you need, pretty baby. Such a good girl,” he coos in my ear, punctuating his phrases with a delectable slam of his hips against mine.

With another thrust of his pelvis, his hand snakes over my side and down my front, sneaking beneath the fabric of my pajamas and underwear, his fingers targeting my clit. His digits rub quick, intense, mind-altering circles around my pearl. My hips buck, angling away from the sudden assault. But Bucky doesn’t relent, chasing his orgasm and mine until they crash.

The tension breaks, my body seizing as my core clenches around nothing, and ecstasy blurs my vision. As the first strains of a cry leave my lips, Bucky’s hand shoots away from his hold on my wrists and slaps over my mouth, muffling the sound. My breath blows humid under his palm, panting and gasping.

With a heady moan, hot, wet warmth spills from Bucky, painting over my thighs and the crotch of my pajamas. Yet his other fingers don’t stop, wringing every last drop of pleasure they can from my body until it becomes too much, my clit oversensitive and sore. A choked sob stutters with my hips as they jolt away.

And he finally yields, petting a delicate hand over my outer lips in a soothing gesture as rapture thrums and dissipates through my body. His lips trail across my skin, the afterglow settling over us.

His hips pull away and he adjusts himself as his spend begins cooling on my thighs. He doesn’t think twice about the mess as his arms gather me close and tuck me into his chest.

“Thank you, Sugar, for being my perfect li’l Sleeping Beauty,” Bucky mutters quietly in the darkness. His sigh blows through my hair, ruffling baby hairs at my nape. “Daddy can’t wait for more sleepy cuddles with you.”

He doesn’t say anything more, his fingers brushing across my stomach, exhaustion prolonging the movement until it stops altogether.

But I lay awake, unable to even contemplate returning to sleep, my mind replaying what just happened. Wrapped tight in Bucky’s arms, as he dozes off in the still very early morning, memories of the past several days flash through my mind. Waking up, finding the patch of warm sheets in the bed beside me.

A quiet, incredulous scoff huffs from my lips. The mornings I would wake up aroused, tormented by erotic dreams, and struggling to keep my composure throughout the day. He’s been playing with me this entire time while I slept.

Tears well in my eyes, emotions washing over me before slowly draining away—confusion, helplessness, insecurity. Guilt, punches me hardest in the gut. But there’s not one ounce of regret for my participation, nor my pleasure. I quickly wipe away the moisture in my eyes with the heel of my hand. My tongue swipes over my lower lip, still tender from splitting it yesterday. Eyes flutter shut as my lungs breath deeply.

I enjoyed Bucky’s attentions, moving with him to bring us to climax, begging for my own release. I like the way he’s hold me now, making me feel safe in his arms. And I’m following my rules, giving them the affection they deserve.

So why do I feel just slightly icky?

Something stirs deep within me, disconcerted by Bucky preying on my unconscious form. My eyes lock onto the dark ceiling, thoughts running amok. I definitely liked it, once the initial shock and fear melted away. Once I saw the excited adoration on Bucky’s face. His eyes soft and comforting as he soothed my distress. My problem stems from the surprise of it all. Being blissfully asleep and then suddenly awoken by his lecherous actions. And it’s something that must be addressed with Bucky.

Later, I decide as I glance quickly to the clock, much later.

I sigh into the darkness of the basement. My hand reaches to rub over my forehead, trying to smooth away the stress building within my stomach, pushing out like an inflating balloon.

Steve and Bucky love me, in their own unbalanced way. I’m their precious Sugar. They _chose_ me. These beautiful men who have done nothing but try to love and protect me since the day we met. 

The sentiment strikes me like lightning, paralyzing my limbs. Seeing clearly for the first time in days, I realize, once you brush away the delusional nature of their kidnapping and the lengths they’ve gone through to retain me here, this is only the second time I’ve truly been upset with either of them.

Sure I’ve been scared, terrified even, but those feeling fed into a dismay that was different, fleeting.

The only other time I’ve felt this way was in thinking of how their actions distorted our friendship. Like they couldn’t see how dedicated I was to them before, how devout. And how they could have unintentionally killed anything between us, just with one decision.

At the thought, it bubbles inside me once more, that ravenous loathing of my circumstance. My mind eases with a deep, calming breath, drifting back away from the ledge I dare not cross. Because it’s been there since the start, growing louder and louder in my mind by the day. I don’t want to leave them—I won’t. I’d rather be stuck in a hole—hell, stuck in that godawful closet of despair—than face a future without them in it.

And that’s okay. Maybe a bit fucked up. Yet, it fits so nicely. I’m soft, malleable, pleasant—and strong enough to thrive in their custody. There are worse fates in this world, and, perhaps for me, not too many better.

The first time I stepped in the basement, I knew I was vanquished, but there was so much to comprehend, to process, to adapt. My surrender stolen, ripped from under my feet like a rug. I didn’t understand. Not until last night, not until this morning.

In other words, yesterday, I realized I’m already burning, today, I will begin to revel in the beauty of the flames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I missed any tags, let me know and I’ll add them! 
> 
> 💜
> 
> Also, if you want to drop by and say ‘hi’, here’s my [Tumblr!](http://foxgloveprincess.tumblr.com/)


	6. Day 8, Evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When everyone wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MIND THE TAG UPDATE!!  
> Tags Added: Vaginal Sex, Cunnilingus, Oral Sex, Biting, Forced Orgasm (I’m adding it though it may not technically apply, just to be safe), and Dom/sub Undertones.
> 
> It’s another longer one, which really we all should have expected.
> 
> Happy Halloween! Though this isn’t a holiday chapter, I wanted to post it today. Enjoy! Let me know what you think!

As Steve and Bucky wake up, the bedside clock reads 9:23 AM. I’ve barely slept, drifting in and out of consciousness since my early wake up. Steve flicks on the lights, illuminating the room, before returning to snuggle. Bucky cleans his dried spend and the extra lubrication from between my thighs with a warm, wet washcloth. He kisses my hipbones after he completes his task, muttering praises and promises into the clothed skin.

My fingers card through brunet hair as he rests his cheek at the top of my thigh, one hand clinging onto Steve’s arm as he gazes at his husband, a soft, sleepy adoration in his eyes.

“Thank you, daddy,” I mumble, brow lowered with contemplative worry.

I spend the day…thinking. Through dressing, breakfast, and puzzle building, through lunch and Bucky and Steve’s concerned departure.

Picking up one of my books, the words turn to visual mush on the page before me, my eyes refusing to focus. I set it aside with a sigh. Clearly my mind has other things to consider, namely how I’m supposed to address the past few days, if I’m allowed to. Leaning against the arm of the couch, I lose myself in thought. Mind searching through the intimate moments between Bucky and I, the way he touched me in the bath, the way he played with me in my sleep.

My jittery body can recline no longer and I pop up from the couch, feet beginning to pace. From one side of my room to the other, I shuffle. I have yet to talk to Bucky about the icky feeling that churned within me this morning. And it’s already later, much later. I sigh, glancing to the clock. But my feet don’t slow in their circuit.

Each lap takes me around the room, stepping closer and closer to the Closet of Despair. How I’ve ended up calling it that, I blame _The Princess Bride_.

I stop, just a step away from the locked closet. And I can’t get myself to move away. The white door looms before me, unobtrusive but important in this moment. I know what’s behind it. Arm restraints chained to the concrete wall, a single bulb hanging from the ceiling, not much else.

I lower myself and cross my legs, eyes focused on the molding details. Perhaps because there’s a possibility that I might end up behind that door today. My fingers find their way to my mouth, acrylic nails tapping against teeth in a show of nerves.

Time passes as I sit there, but I don’t keep track, gathering thoughts together and contemplating how to approach Bucky when he returns.

A hand cups my cheek from above, tilting my head in their direction. Steve stands beside me, gazing down, haloed by the overhead lights.

“What’re you doing princess?” he asks, thumb caressing gently over my cheekbone.

My forehead presses to his leg as I avoid his gaze. I shrug, hoping for just a moment longer to think. Steve gives me that moment, resting his hand on the top of my head, petting over my hair.

“I’m a little scared,” I confess eventually, staring at his sock-clad feet. My fingers grip the hem of his jeans, rubbing it between my thumb and forefinger, as if the weave of the denim holds every answer.

Steve hums in response, “Why is that?”

“I—” I gulp down my response, thinking better of speaking without the object of my concern present. “I need to talk to Bucky and set some things straight.” My posture straightens as determination solidifies within me. Though in catching Steve’s perplexed expression, I can’t help asking, “Do you think he’ll get upset with me?”

“Of course not,” he replies, holding out his hand to help me to my feet.

His strong fingers wrap around mine, his hand warm. His thumb sweeps over my knuckles as he draws me up to stand. Letting his free hand brush off my bottom, my eyes avoid looking toward the bed as they scan the room.

The blond’s arms bundle me in his embrace, drawing me close, safe and secure. He draws his phone out of his pocket, letting me watch as he sends a quick text to his husband without letting me go.

The door to the basement beeps and opens a moment later, Bucky strolling through. His eyes meet mine and something flashes through his expression, cautious and concerned.

“Daddy, can I talk to you, please?” I ask, voice firm but polite.

“Of course, babygirl,” he answers with a wary glance at Steve, gesturing to the couch with the wave of his hand.

Steve walks me over, sitting and situating me across his thighs. His hand rubs along my side, soothing away any tension that begins to build. My body leans into his, pressing my head against his shoulder, into the crook of his neck.

“Thank you, Stevie,” I mutter, pressing a kiss to his skin.

His fingers grip me tighter in response, a shiver rolling down his spine. A breathy sigh blows past his lips, so soft that I almost don’t catch it.

“Be careful, Sugar, don’t get our Stevie all hot and bothered if you’re looking to have a conversation,” Bucky warns as he settles into the couch, resting sideways to keep his attention toward us. He drapes his arms over the back and settles his legs open wide, one on the floor and the other bent against the back cushions. His fingers pick at the fabric of his jeans as he waits.

My brow tilts with unease at the comment, eyes glancing to Steve’s face, worried that I’ve made him uncomfortable. The blond’s eyes shine down at me with soft reassurance, pupils subtly expanding the longer he stares. Though it dissuades my worry, a drip of excitement works down my spine. I clear my throat as I turn back to Bucky, eyes dropping to his chest as I straighten in Steve’s lap, ass brushing against a growing tumescence.

“I want to talk about this morning,” I assert after a deep, steadying breath, hands folding together in my lap as I speak.

He doesn’t show it plainly, but Bucky’s posture tenses just slightly, trepidation growing at just those few words. “Why do you want to talk about it?” he asks slowly as he sit still, almost unnaturally still.

My teeth bite into my cheek as my face scrunches in distress. “It was nice when you were touching me, I enjoyed myself,” I explain carefully, insistent on not straying down a path of misunderstanding, “But I didn’t like waking up to that. I felt—” My voice dies off before I get to the word, unsure if I can speak it out loud without getting into trouble.

“You felt what, sweetheart?” Steve prompts quietly, voice soft and compassionate. His forehead presses to my cheek, a quiet support.

“Violated,” I whisper into the room.

In the silence, the word sits in the air like a thick smog. Steve remains mute, not commenting on my statement, though his fingers pulse on my hip and his teeth click as he grits them together. Bucky looks to his husband, eyes unmistakably devastated but growing more unreadable by the second. Seeing Bucky’s reaction, the wall he begins building up, I act swiftly.

Climbing off of Steve’s lap, I crawl over the couch into the nook created by Bucky’s legs and kneel, wrapping my body around him and latching on.

“I just don’t understand why you wanted to play with me like that,” I explain, softly, quickly. “It was scary to wake up to and realize you’ve been doing that for the past several days without me knowing. It felt icky, like I was dirty.”

“Never,” Bucky insists vehemently, wrapping his arms around me and cocooning me against him. His legs trap my body between them, draping over my calves, caging me in and fusing our forms together. “I’m _so sorry_ , Sugar. I couldn’t help myself last night. But I swear, it never got that far before, there was only ever snuggles and light petting.” His nose presses to the curve of my neck, breathing deeply, his shaky breath washing over me. “You’re our most precious treasure and I never wanted to make you feel that way.” His lips brush over my cheeks, my forehead, my hair as if searching for forgiveness with each caressing kiss.

“I—You,” My mouth forms around the words but don’t complete the thoughts, not finding the right word to express what I’m going to say. My mind scrambles for the way to fix this. Because somehow I’ve made it not right, upset him, and I can’t have that. Settling on what to say, I place my hands on Bucky’s cheeks, stopping his quest of kisses and locking our eyes together. “I’m gonna give you everything you need, all the cuddle time you want. So you won’t need sleepy cuddles,” I state definitively.

Bucky’s brow twitches, creasing for a moment before smoothing over. A grin spreads across his lips as his arms squeeze around me. “I’m happy to hear that, babygirl.” He pauses. I wait for him to continue, contentment starting to buzz softly under my skin. He glances over my shoulder to Steve and continues, clarifying as his eyes meet mine, “But daddy sometimes likes to have sleepy cuddles, just for fun. Do you think that maybe you would be alright with me doing that?”

My face and stomach drop as I think, my hands playing with the soft fabric of Bucky’s shirt as I do. “Every night?” I ask, wariness drenching my question.

“Only on special occasions,” Bucky concedes with a shake of his head. “And, if you want, I’ll tell you before or give you something to make you really sleepy. Whatever works to make you comfortable.”

A quiet, internal ping registers in the back of my mind as he talks, but it’s faint, easy to brush aside. How nice that my apprehension is so easily ignored, finally letting me breathe.

“Thank you, daddy.” I sigh tilting my head to press a kiss to his jaw, the weight finally lifting completely from my shoulders as the matter settles. “That makes me feel so much better.”

“Now,” he drawls, voice dripping with impish intent, “I believe someone said something about all the cuddle time I want.”

I swallow, thickly. Sparks of excitement dance over my skin, sinking in and pooling heat at the apex of my thighs.

“I did say that,” I mutter as realization dawns of exactly what I’ve propositioned. Small twinges of regret pop up in my mind, quickly swallowed and smothered by my building desire.

“Good,” Bucky growls, burying his face in my neck and attacking the skin with his mouth.

“B-birth control?” I squeak, voice staggering over the syllables, anticipation and trepidation working in tandem.

Bucky pulls away, tracing his nose up my throat. “Last time the doctor was here, he checked us all out. We’re all clean and he gave you your five year implant, Sugar,” Bucky informs, smacking away a hand that snakes around my waist. “No touching while you watch, Stevie.”

My eyes dart to Steve as he retracts his hand, flexing them on his thighs and leaning back into the opposite arm of the couch. His pupils, blown wide with lust, swallow up nearly all the blue of his irises. His gaze burns, shadowed and dark with yearning. Concern paints my face as I watch him.

“Don’t worry about him for now, baby,” the brunet says, licking and nipping my jaw, “he likes watching almost as much as he likes playing.” His hands drift down my sides, over my back and squeeze my ass in his large hands.

My eyes lock with Steve’s and his mouth drops open with a panting breath. His hands rubbing against his thighs, inching closer and closer to the button on his jeans. I swallow down the saliva gathering in my mouth.

Bucky tilts my gaze back to him, licking across my lips and tangling his tongue with mine. A moan echoes from my throat, swallowed by his mouth as he kisses me. He draws back and begins nipping and sucking a bruising line down my neck, muttering praises as he goes.

“Look at my beauties, being so good for me.” His fingers dig into my hips, wedging us close together. His hardness rubs against my folded legs, straining against the zipper of his jeans.

“Will you be gentle?” I ask as his hands ruck up the skirt of my dress, exposing my underwear for both of them to see. A shiver rolls down my spine as I lean forward into Bucky’s grip.

“We always take care of our Sugar, don’t we?” Steve counters from behind, voice husky and deep, choking around his desire.

“It’s just—” I break off on a whimpering moan as Bucky bites a little harder with his teeth. “It’s just been a while. I haven’t had anyone inside me since Darren, and I’m—”

A hand slaps over my mouth, snapping my focus to Bucky’s steely eyes. His gaze sharp as a knife, glaring at me. The temperature in the room drops around us as I stay frozen in his grip. My blood runs cold with instinctual fear, dripping icicles down my spine.

“Never say his name again,” Bucky snarls through gritted teeth.

My eyes widen and I nod fervently, immediately. My lips press kisses against the brunet’s palm, trying to apologize with my actions. He stiffly removes his hand, but I grip his wrist, continuing to press kisses against each finger and the back fo his hand.

“I’m sorry, daddy,” I repeat over and over, kissing his knuckles between each word until the fury clears from his features.

Steve’s warm body presses against my back until he encompasses me like a blanket. He leans forward lips brushing against my ear as he says, “We don’t want to hear about your college boyfriend ever again, sweetheart. You’re ours now and he’s been taken care of.”

My mouth dries and I blink rapidly, trying to find focus on the world at Steve’s pronouncement. But then Bucky’s hands land on my breasts, kneading the flesh and tugging my nipples over my dress. I gasp and his lips capture mine, silencing anything I could say. And just like that, my mind blanks, thoughts fluttering away.

“You gonna be a good girl for us?” Bucky asks between kisses, nibbling at my lips and breathing heavily.

“I’ll always be your good girl,” I promise, knowing what they want to hear, knowing what I want to be true.

Bucky’s hands caress my cheeks, holding my head steady as he traces his mouth over my face, hot breath fanning over me as he moves to the side. Their lips meet in soft smacks accompanied breathy sighs as they kiss right next to my ear. I can’t turn my head to watch, but I can hear them. And, God, do I squirm as one of them moans. I shift on my knees, pressing my thighs together, hands reaching out to grasp at the front of Bucky’s shirt.

He chuckles as he draws away from his husband. “Stevie’s so eager, baby,” he purrs conspiratorially. “He’s waited so long. You’re gonna let him be a good boy for you, right?”

My breath hitches as I turn my head, catching Steve’s eye in my periphery. He nuzzles close into my neck, breath shaky, melding our bodies together. On hand releases Bucky’s shirt, smoothing up the skin of the blond’s neck and finding the hair at the base of his skull. A needy groan rumbles in his throat as his restrained cock pushes against my ass in his jeans.

Bucky smirks, slapping the outside of his husband’s thigh lightly as he leans forward, “Don’t be greedy.”

Steve nods, reluctantly backing away until I barely feel his presence behind me.

A petulant whine sticks in my throat as I try to lean back toward Steve, to feel his warmth again. Bucky’s hands dart to my sides, keeping me trapped at the juncture of his thighs.

“Daddy, please,” I pout quietly. My face buries into his neck, rubbing along his skin as I change my position, nestling closer.

“You really want Stevie?” he asks calmly. I nod insistently against him. “You sure babygirl? He won’t let you go once he’s really started. He gets very possessive, intense. I’ll be lucky if he listens to me.”

I gulp down the shock of fear that jolts through my brain, pulling away from Bucky to catch his eye. My head tilts down as I pause before I nod once more, the movement hardly perceptible.

“I need your words,” Bucky prompts, pushing my head up with a prod of his nose on my cheek. He places a kiss right at the corner of my lips and waits.

“May I please have Stevie, daddy?” I ask, the sweet words quiet and faltering as they spill from my mouth.

Bucky’s smile is wide and full of teeth as his gaze falls to his husband. The blond man waits, patient, hands held at his sides. His body taut with tension, ready to snap.

“You heard her, Stevie,” Bucky gushes. “She wants you.”

And in an instant, my world turns upside down as I’m thrown over Steve’s shoulder and carried to the bed. My head spins, stomach perched uncomfortably on the man’s shoulder. Wide eyes look to Bucky who merely keeps smiling, sharp and rakish. He shifts in his seat before standing, following at a leisurely pace.

Steve doesn’t speak, not right away. He just places me on the bed, my head resting delicately on my pillow. He steps away for a second. Burning eyes traveling across my body, drinking in every detail of my form. His hands reach for the hem of his shirt, slowly stripping it over his head. His chest rises and falls with heavy breaths as he continues, reaching for his jeans and popping open the button. The zipper snicks as he lowers it inch by inch.

My eyes stay glued to his figure, so close I could touch, but frozen to my spot. God, he’s more beautiful than Michelangelo’s _David_. Planes of muscle sculpted precisely, the pinnacle of the male form. My body begins to fidget under his stare, growing more and more self-conscious by the second.

And Steve’s left in his boxer briefs, the hard line of him tenting the stretchy fabric—it’s all I can focus on. My fingers knead into the sheets and blankets as heat flushes through my body. I bite back needy sounds as I watch him steadily draw the waistband of his underwear down, revealing himself completely.

A connoisseur of cocks I am not, but even a blind man could see how beautiful he is. I’m enraptured by his beauty, hardly blinking and trapped in his thrall.

His hand reaches out, gripping my chin to tug me toward him. My back arches off the bed as I easily comply. He holds me up for a drawn out second, appraising my visage with adoration. When he releases me, I descend back against the pillow and he follows, crowding over me and smothering any hint of distance between us.

His gaze stays focused and observant, examining my every movement, like he’s waiting for me to rebel, to make a sudden move.

But I won’t. I’m not resisting. I’m exactly where I want to be. Keeping them happy, giving them every ounce affection I can muster.

My heart thunders loudly in my chest, anticipation bubbling through my veins as I wait with bated breath for my ruination.

Steve aligns his body with mine, his chiseled physique against my softness. I hum, delighted, itching to run my fingers over his back, scratch along his sides, trip them over his abs.

“I see that look in your eyes, Sugar,” Bucky muses as he perches on the bed, running a hand over Steve’s flank, stroking his husband in a soothing gesture. “So excited to let our Stevie love on you.” His tone is teasing, playful, almost taunting.

Steve’s eyes snap over to his husband, irritation shining bright in his scowl. A whimper works its way out of my throat at the look. Mind spinning down a spiral of uncertainty. Is this not what they want? Do they _want_ me to resist, to refuse their advances? That makes no sense. It’s against my rules. My face falls, as my eyes search for Bucky, for his assurance.

A sharp smack lands on my cheek. My head bursts with a shot of clarity as the heat from his hand blooms on my face. Chin grasped in strong fingers, Steve turns my head back to lock eyes.

“You’re mine,” Steve growls, eyes flashing. His brow sits low over his eyes, a seriousness that does not abate.

My stomach plummets downward, boiling away within the pit of lust pooling at my core. Head bobbing like a bobble head, I keep my gaze steady on the blond, despite hearing fabric rustling from the other man perched beside me. Steve’s face softens, a smile twitching the corners of his lips.

“Good girl,” he praises, thumb tracing over my cheekbone.

In an attempt to seek more intimacy, I prop myself up on my elbows, only for Steve to knock me down, pin me to the bed and slant his mouth over mine. He kisses me, drinking down my pleased sighs like I am an oasis in a desert and his thirst is unquenchable. His lips pull sounds from within me that I have never heard before and I gasp for breath whenever I can. But all around me is Steve, Steve, Steve.

He does not relent until he is satisfied and I am allowed to drag needed lungfuls of air into my heaving chest.

Steve pushes my dress over my stomach, and I arch upward to help him rip it over my head and off my body. His eyes only admire me for a second before he begins to kiss down my throat, pressing his lips across the expanse of flesh he has uncovered.

Hands slowly and carefully unlatch my bra and slide it over my arms, tossing it away, before landing on my hips. A chuckle rumbles in my ear. Bucky. I don’t look to him, though he noses along my jaw and temptation tickles at the back of my mind.

Steve’s hands clamp around my waist, bruising in their strength and drawing my focus. His lips continue their trek downward, over my collarbones, and his hands drift up, cupping my breasts and lavishing them with attention.

A whiny mewl echoes through me as my back arches, pressing toward his mouth until he envelops my nipple with his plush lips. His tongue flicks over the buds, pinching and pulling the other with his fingers before switching.

My hips wiggle on the bed, an ache radiating from my core, needing stimulation. The blond man withdraws from my chest, a string of saliva connecting his lips to the puffy peak of my nipple. He stares at me, expression vexed and displeased. My teeth clench and my head tilts to the ceiling for a moment of respite.

“I’m sorry,” I apologize, quickly regaining my composure, licking my lips and squeezing my eyes closed. “I’ll be good. I promise.”

Fingers tilt my head back as lips capture my own. I moan into the kiss as hands dance over my sides, sneaking lower under my panties to tickle over the hair on my mound. My hips buck forward, as Steve’s grind down. He draws away languidly, working his way down my body, his hands sliding my underwear down my legs. He nips at each of my hipbones and presses a loving kiss against the heart at the top of my slit.

“Will you let me take care of you, princess?” he asks, knelt before me as if in supplication, eyes locked with my most intimate place.

Barely do I get the chance to begin uttering the sounds of, “Yes,” before he descend upon me and turn the rest of the word into a exultant cry. 

His mouth, his tongue, his teeth work over me, expert in their ministrations. As his groans rumble in his throat, they vibrate against me in the most luscious way. My hips buck, against his face, but Steve takes it in stride, scooping my lower body up with his arms and bringing it to his face like a platter at a feast.

Hands grasp at the sheets and pillows of the bed beneath me, supporting the position as best as I can. My legs twitch against Steve’s bulging biceps as my climax approaches. The orgasm knocks the air out of me and my eyes squeeze shut as his tongue flicks over my clit. My mouth drops open in a soft ‘o’ and does not close as Steve continues on, unrelenting in his pursuit of my pleasure.

“Stevie,” I whimper, breathless, begging, “Please.”

Though I don’t know whether I plead for his cessation or continuation, my mind spirals down a path of indulgence and gluttony as Steve keeps going as if I hadn’t spoken at all. The second and third time I cum are swift and lush, sending hazy pleasure over me like rolling magma while I sink boneless into the mattress.

Bucky’s fingers prop up my chin as my head lolls to the side. Mischievous delight shines in his lust-blown gaze as he chuckles, “I told you he was intense, babygirl. Like a guard dog with his favorite toy. You’re not getting away any time soon.” His nose brushes against my cheek as he hums happily. “Don’t worry,” he whispers quietly, “Daddy won’t let him break you.”

“No,” I say, shaking my head in agreement.

Though it makes no sense in my mind, it doesn’t seem to bother Bucky as I cry out with another orgasm. My body tightens, muscles and joints locking together before releasing as it plows through me.

“Stevie,” I cry, reaching out, tapping his hands and any part of him I can reach, attempting, finally, to push him away.

“Behave,” Bucky chides tenderly, pulling my arms back tight to my chest and resting his head against mine. “He’s treating you good, isn’t he?”

“Too good,” I babble in response, hips bucking in the air and shoulders beginning to ache from the position.

Bucky smiles over at his husband, “You hear that, gorgeous? You’re too good for our Sugar.”

Steve moans into me and I jolt at the sensation with a whine. But the blond redoubles his efforts, committed to my pleasure. Bucky clicks his tongue as he observes my face, slowly scrunching with discomfort.

“Why don’t you bring her down, Stevie, we don’t want to hurt our precious babygirl.”

Steve nods, nose knocking against my clit as he lowers my hips back to the bed and lays himself between my thighs. My legs drape over his back and, by some miracle, he manages not to separate his lips from my center in the shuffle.

His tongue swirls around my entrance, fucking into me as he slows slightly in his attentions. His fingers trace up my thighs and find their way beside his tongue, pressing into me and parting my walls around two thick digits.

I gasp at the intrusion, not used to penetration, even after last night’s interlude in the tub. Bucky’s hands pet over my hair as he hushes me, sweet words of praise whispered into my ears.

“It’s alright, baby, you’re so good. Being the best babygirl,” he coos, petting his hand over my hair. I melt under his touch. “Stevie’s being a good boy by preparing you. Isn’t he being so nice?”

Steve’s fingers thrust into me, scissoring inside and stretching me out as he concentrates on suckling and humming against my oversensitive nub. A choked moan gets trapped in my throat as my eyes squeeze shut.

“Answer me,” Bucky prompts as I sit in the edge of losing myself completely.

“Yes,” I nearly shout as Steve adds another finger. “He’s the best.”

The orgasm is right before me, just out of reach as Steve continues to piston his fingers and play with my clit. My chest heaves with each breath as I bury my face against Bucky’s shoulder, pleas rolling off my tongue. The blond answers, immediately, with a light nip at my pearl. I’m catapulted into euphoric, orgasmic relief. It crashes over me like a wave and takes me drifting.

Bucky tilts my head right and left, but my brain is far too fuzzy to understand why he does it. “That’s enough for now,” he declares with a kiss to the tip of my nose.

I nod in oblivious agreement as Steve’s warm body presses against my front, his torso held up by a forearm as he lowers his hips and guides himself to my entrance. His cock plunges to the limit in three firm strokes and, I swear on every book that is holy, he reaches all the way to my throat, trapping my moans as he stretches me wide and hits me deep. Awareness surges forward at the sensation, the stretch, the fullness.

His guttural groan rolls in his chest as he pauses, squeezing his eyes shut and taking a moment. Fingers dance up my legs as they bend, delicately cradling his waist. My walls flutter around him as I observe Steve’s face, pinched with pleasure. My hands reach up, cupping his cheeks and carefully trace over his long lashes.

“So pretty,” I murmur as my body adjusts to the intrusion and restlessness starts settle into my thrumming blood.

Pink tints the tips of his ears and splotches over his chest. My lips split in a grin, beguiled by his reaction. Hips tilting, just slightly, I angle for just the barest hint of friction while I wait through the period of adjustment.

And Steve begins, rutting into my channel, his eyes fluttering open to drink in the sight of my body pinned beneath him. I scramble for something to ground me, overcome by the sensational thrusts, nails raking down Steve’s chest. He hisses, hips stuttering slightly. But he catches himself and continues to pound into me.

Gasps and little whimpering moans slip past my lips, accenting the clap of our flesh and the squelch of my juices between my thighs.

The knot begins coiling deep in my belly, my legs beginning to tremble with the tension. My head shakes, tears welling in my eyes as it builds and builds.

I can’t handle any more, I’ll shatter apart. Pleas fall from my lips as my hips buck and my walls clench around Steve’s cock, praying that he’ll find his release and save me from another.

“Please cum, Stevie,” I beg, “Please cum for me.”

My shaky hands wrap around his shoulders and pull at the hair on the nape of his neck. I rock my hips up and do my best to push the blond to his limit, trigger his release while attempting to smother my own.

Steve’s warm hands wrap gently around my neck, his thumbs tilting up my chin as he locks our gazes.

“I need more, princess,” he entreats. “Give me more.”

“I can’t,” I cry, blinking the moisture from my eyes and shaking my head.

But the blond keeps me steady in his grip, cock still plunging into me and jolting my body on the bed, the headboard clacking against the wall. His lips press over mine, a sloppy, open kiss as he swallows down every sound I make and traces my lips with his tongue.

My toes curl, heels digging into the bed as my body draws taut, fighting with everything I have not to cum. Why I resist, I don’t know. But something deep inside me rejects it, refusing to shatter.

And that is something Steve and Bucky cannot accept. They exchange a quick glance and descend to claim my undoing. As Steve cradles me close, Bucky’s hand smooths down my torso to find the apex of my thighs. His fingers, so adept at bringing me that lusty ecstasy, don’t give me a chance to protest before they send me rocketing into my release.

It shoots through me like a firework, sparking down my veins, and washes away like draining water. My body tenses, eyes rolling back in my head, walls clamping on Steve’s cock as my lips part in a sobbing moan.

It hurts. It hurts so good.

My eyes squeeze shut, tears dripping down my face. Steve’s thrusts quicken, faster and faster, stuttering over their rhythm until he freezes, cock buried to the hilt. He paints my inner walls with his hot cum, filling me in a way I’ve never felt before. I whimper at the sensation.

Steve drops his body onto mine, crushing me into the bed, humid breaths puffing from his lips. His fingers trace my face, outlining my nose, my cheeks, my lips.

Unable to stop the impulse, as post-orgasmic bliss sinks in, my tongue licks out at the digits, tasting the saltiness of his skin and my dried arousal, tracing the bend of his knuckles. Steve huffs an amused laugh and withdraws his fingers, wiping the wetness on the sheets beside him.

Sleep sits heavy on my eyelids, after such an abrupt awakening in the morning and a day spent on exercises in mental exhaustion, our coupling has drained every last drop of energy from my body.

As my tongue retreats into my mouth, I turn my head to press a kiss to Steve’s head, content to let myself descend into the realm of dreams.

He groans into my shoulder, hands skimming along my body as he pushes away, hissing softly as he pulls his softened cock from my core.

“Thank you, Stevie,” I mumble sweetly with eyes half closed.

His arms bundle me close, trapping me in their warmth, but I hum contentedly and burrow closer to him until his chest presses flush to my back.

Soft caresses begin to trace over my nipples, a sensual, lovely touch as my eyes close completely. But then the fingers pinch, tweaking painfully at the peaks. My eyes snap open as I gasp in response.

Glancing down, Bucky plays with my delicate buds, moving to knead my pillowy flesh in his palm as my attention lands on him. His other hand slips between my thighs, playing with my tender lower lips and smearing the seeping mess between my thighs.

He smirks, fervor dancing on his face and clear in his tone, “Oh, babygirl, you’re not done yet. It’s daddy’s turn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I missed any tags, let me know and I’ll add them! 
> 
> 💜
> 
> Also, if you want to drop by and say ‘hi’, here’s my [Tumblr!](http://foxgloveprincess.tumblr.com/)


	7. Day 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter up. No new tags for this one. A slight digression from my last chapter. But don’t worry, we’re still on track. This chapter is setting up some stuff for later chapters.
> 
> As always, let me know what you think.
> 
> I want to give a shout-out to [@SlothSpaghetti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlothSpaghetti/pseuds/SlothSpaghetti) for helping me figure some stuff out for this story. She’s amazing! Check out her stories!

It’s especially cold today.

In the basement, a chill always seems to hang in the air, most likely from being located underground. But today I can’t take a step without shivering and my teeth have begun to chatter.

Steve and Bucky aren’t with me today. As a consequence of indulging in their ‘anniversary staycation’ and extending it beyond their initial plan, their business needs a little attention—and it’s been piling up in the background while their focus has been on me. Bills to sort and management to check, the little things that only owners can see to, though I can only assume. They didn’t reveal what specifically needed their expertise. And I wasn’t particularly curious to find out, even with a chance to do so. It kept them busy upstairs, out running errands—away from me.

I swallow the bitterness sitting on my tongue and bundle myself tighter in my blankets.

But Bucky brought down my breakfast this morning and explained their plans for the day with apology dripping from every word. He fed me bits of toast, spread with honey and homemade raspberry jam, as I snuggled close to his chest to bask in the vibrations of his voice. He dressed me in my outfit for the day, a warm, cozy cream cable knit sweater, one or two sizes too big, and jean shorts paired with short frilly, burgundy socks.

Before leaving, he cradled my face in his hands, molding his lips to mine in a breathtaking kiss. My fingers clinging to his shirt as he parted from me with one last playful kiss to the tip of my nose and a promise that Steve would be down later with my lunch.

It’s been a few hours since, and I’ve managed to pass my time in quiet solitude. Wrapped in blankets from my bed and surrounded by plush animals on the couch, I’ve written a new short story in my notebook about a girl who goes into a bookstore and falls in love with a tall, dark, brooding man she meets in the cookbook section. It’s a cute little conceit with sprinkles of fluff and a dash of angst. A pleased smile breaks across my face as my eyes scan over the ending. It’s quite good, if I do say so myself.

Maybe Peggy will accept it once I edit through it. Bucky and Steve could send it to her. They did say that I could keep writing if I wanted to. My hips squirm as excitement bubbles in my gut. It’s been far too long since I’ve felt that accomplished thrill of writing. A happy hum buzzes my lips as my fingers turn the page, allowing the finished story to ruminate in my subconscious while I work on something else.

In the quiet of the basement, my mind wanders, searching for a new subject, staring at the next blank notebook page. Itching to begin another story, to feel genuinely productive, my hand twinges in protest with a cramp. I shake it out beside me, dispelling the ache and tension from the muscles. I miss my laptop.

Setting aside my notebook on the coffee table, my hands grab my stuffed animal and cradle it close to my chest. My pen finds its way to my mouth, teeth chewing over the cap as I tilt my head back to the ceiling for a quick breather.

Beep, whir, click.

My eyes drift to the door as Steve pops his head in. He smiles as I perk up on the couch, a chuckle sounding in his chest as stuffed animals and blankets topple around my waist.

“Hey there, princess.” He props the door open behind him as he takes a step inside my room, hands empty and relaxed at his sides. 

My eyes snap to the open doorway. Sirens blare in my head. This is new. This is strange. This is dangerous. What is he doing? My heartbeat begins pounding, mind racing with the possibilities, each more terrifying than the last. A test or meeting someone new or, God forbid, kicking me out.

“Come here,” he beckons, his expression tinted with longing. He holds out his hand and waits expectantly.

I stand, slowly, hesitant to walk over with the door standing wide open. Dread sits in my gut like a stone and bile pushes at the bottom of my throat. My feet shuffle over, fingers digging into my thighs through the denim of my shorts as I stumble.

Despite burning curiosity to look through the door, to see what may be different beyond it, I keep my eyes firmly focused on Steve’s chest. Unwilling to deviate even minutely from the behavior of a good girl.

As I get close enough, my hand reaches for his, encased in the sleeve of my fuzzy sweater. He grasps my wrist, drawing me close and tucking me in a hug. His feet rock us side to side for a second as he breathes in, pressing his nose into the side of my head and pressing kisses all over until the tension in my body dissipates.

“Oh,” he sighs, contented, “I missed this.”

“You slept next to me all night,” I mutter into his neck, wrapping my arms around his waist and playing with the back hem of his shirt, calming in his warm tenderness. “It’s only been a few hours.”

“Too long.” His voice is laced with a steely insistence that I know no logic can overcome.

A soft sigh blows over my lips, releasing that last bit of niggling tension. He bends slightly, scooping me up below my rear until I wrap my legs around his waist. My lips find his pulse point, pressing a sweet kiss to his skin as I breathe in his scent, and he hums happily in response. A giggle bubbles in my throat as he adjusts his hold, securing me to him and bouncing me playfully. He chuckles in response and turns on his heel unexpectedly, swinging me around and walking.

Terror strikes, pulse stuttering. My hands grasp at the back of his neck, knowing that the door lies behind me now. He’s taking me out of my room. My mind buzzes and I start to squirm, trying to get myself down, to stay where I belong. He only holds tighter, arms bracing, strong as iron girders.

“Stevie?” I squeak, voice high and tight with fear.

“I got you, princess,” he says, adjusting his grip again to run a gentle hand up and down my spine.

But his statement, his actions, in no way reassure me. My thighs lock around his waist and my nails dig into his shoulders, clinging to him like a lifeline. But he doesn’t flinch or falter, or stop climbing.

His footsteps quietly thump up the stairs as he carries me out of the basement. My heart beats like a taiko drum in my chest, feeling like it’ll burst at any second. My eyes squeeze shut, praying that somehow this is just some kind of nightmare, that I’m really back in my room.

Steve remains oblivious to it all, even with my body pressed so close to his. He just keeps running his hand along my spine and pressing light kisses to the side of my head.

“We’re almost there, sweetheart,” he murmurs in my ear, voice happy and unbothered.

And I’m petrified. Whatever his intention, good or otherwise, he hasn’t shared it with me. Leaving me clueless, afraid, and completely lost to my own horrific imaginings of what is to come. A quiet whimper works its way up my throat, distressed and confused, as tears well on my waterline.

“Hush now.” He pauses at the top of the stairs, trying to take a peek at my face as I keep it buried in the crook of his neck.

My limbs ache with tension as my body remains tight, taut and locked. It’s the only thing I can think to do, refuse to set foot down outside my room or acknowledge that I’ve left it. Even if I have to exhaust my muscles around Steve, muscles already sore and tender from strenuous bouts of cuddle time.

The blond strides straight out from the basement stairs, a sigh breezing across my neck. But I can’t worry about disappointing Steve right now because I am outside of my room and _that is wrong_.

With limited knowledge of the upstairs layout after the cursory tour of their home who knows how long ago, I can only guess where he’s taking me. Steve’s arms hold me steady, keeping my form pressed close to him and grateful for his strength.

When he stops again, my spine jolts with uneasy anticipation. A new pair of hands smooth over my back in a massaging caress. Bucky presses a kiss to my nape, soft and gentle. But he stays silent. Unable to force my eyes open, I’m left in a limbo of trepidation, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The brunet retreats quickly with one more kiss, the faint clangs and clinks clueing me into my location—the kitchen. Maybe he’s cooking, maybe he’s cleaning up. I can’t make myself peek, despite the pique in curiosity.

As the location processes through my mind, another sound catches my attention, the soft patter of rain through the window.

On any other occasion, I might sigh, lull myself into a comfortable headspace of tranquility. But now, I’m strung tighter than a bowstring and ready to snap. Still refusing to open my eyes, I struggle to swallow around my jagged fear.

“Sweetheart, it’s okay.” Steve’s grip loosens under me, slowly dropping me toward the floor.

Immediately, panic surges and I cry out, a hysterical chorus of “no, no, no, no, no” as I fight to keep my feet away from the floor. “Please, Stevie, I wanna be good. Please,” I beg even as my legs lose their place around his waist, slipping down, unsupported as they are. My voice pitches higher with alarm. “Stevie! Please, don’t let me fall. You can take me back downstairs. I promise, I’ll be good. That’s where I belong, I—” I choke on a sob as tears drip down my cheeks.

The quiet kitchen sounds cease and Bucky’s back behind me in an instant. He shushes me and rubs his hands over my legs, urging them gently down.

“You’re not in trouble, Sugar,” he reassures in my ear. “You’re alright. Let Stevie put you down.”

My head shakes emphatically against Steve’s neck, weak refusals tripping off my tongue. Both men run their hands over my body in tandem, dragging my weight down with coos of encouragement, until my feet land on the ground with a final, heart-wrenching thump and my legs nearly collapse under me.

Bucky bundles me into his arms, turning me away from Steve and tucking me close to his chest.

“Stevie,” The brunet chides as I cry into the side of his neck, “You didn’t tell her why you were bringing her up here, did you?”

“I thought she’d be pleased,” Steve answers quickly, remorse clear in his tone.

A soothing hand leaves my back to reach out to his husband. “I told you to tell her what was going on. You weren’t using your head, Stevie.” Bucky heaves a sigh, and presses his lips to the side of my head. “You’re alright, babygirl. We just thought you might like to spend some time with us upstairs.”

Feet shuffle behind me, Steve’s warm figure draping over my back. “I’m sorry, princess,” he apologizes, fingers dancing over my shoulders. “I saw that it was raining and wanted to let you have some time to enjoy it.” My eyes flutter open for the first time, turning to find cornflower blue eyes filled with regret. “I know how much you love the rain.”

My heart melts as my eyes refill with tears, touched by his thoughtfulness. The blond’s head drops, and his shoulder sag. He sniffs and backs up a step. But I don’t let him get far, reaching out and grabbing onto the fabric of his shirt.

“Say he’s forgiven, baby,” Bucky prompts quietly in my ear. “He was just overexcited and wanted to make you happy.”

My head bobs up and down slowly, taking in the information. Bucky gently pushes at my shoulders, urging me to turn and face his husband.

“It’s okay, Stevie. I’m sorry I overreacted,” I apologize. My teeth sink into my lower lip as I wait for his reaction. Bucky’s thumb quickly pulls on the flesh, keeping me from biting too hard.

Steve’s head snaps up and shakes in denial. “No, Sugar, you’ve done nothing wrong.” He grabs my hands and holds them between us, pressing his lips to my knuckles. “Nothing wrong with you.” His eyes shine as he meets my gaze. “Let’s get you some lunch, sweetheart, pretend like this misunderstanding never happened.”

A sigh blows past his lips as I nod. The tension in the room washes away like a retreating wave, relief taking its place.

Pulling me over to the breakfast nook, Bucky brings over three plates, a sandwich with chips on each. The brunet feeds me small bites and ensures I relax as he holds me close. Steve props my feet on his lap, massaging them as I eat while taking bites of his own food.

The rain falls in the background as they discuss what they’ve been doing. A morning spent talking with their newly hired manager, Phil, about The Line’s business projections and Bucky’s sous chef turned head chef, Melinda, about recipes and food trends. They ask after me and I relay my activities as they listen, Bucky seeming particularly interested as I summarize my story.

It’s nice. Almost normal. Though I guess it is now, for us. Despite the skewed, unbalanced logic that brought us here.

Butterflies flutter in my belly as we finish eating and Bucky wipes my face, kissing my cheeks until I titter with laughter.

“Do you wanna see the rain now?” Steve queries, his hand resting on my knee. I nod enthusiastically, though the response is unnecessary.

He helps me stand and guides me over to the back door, grabbing the handle and waiting for it to beep and click unlocked.

The door swings open to a gloomy, grey day. Rain plummets in fat drops and splatters against the grass in their confined backyard. My hand reaches out instinctively, into the cold, refreshing downpour. A smile cracks across my face, wide and giddy. A hand presses against my lower back, pushing me out the door.

“Go ahead, princess. I’ll be right here to watch over you.”

I snap my focus to Steve, who just serenely gestures outside once more.

The first plod onto the small concrete step soaks through the soles of my socks, but I don’t care. A tempting impulse to run surges through me, but I resist. I want to savor this moment of fresh air and precipitation for as long as they’ll let me. If I make any sudden moves, they may take it away.

The rain drenches my plush sweater as I step onto the grass, mud squishing against my socks. It’s unpleasant and gross and absolutely perfect as I wiggle my feet in the muck. Throwing my head back and stretching my arms wide, I revel in the rain as it washes over me. I can’t resist spinning in a circle, dancing, eyes focused on the clouds.

Cheerful laughter emanating from the house catches my attention. I spin slowly one last time lowering my gaze, noticing the fence of their narrow garden and their wooden gate. Halting my movement, my eyes latch onto that barrier between me and absolute freedom. The laughter dies and tension settles once again.

Time slows, ticking by like molasses. And my thoughts work at the speed of light. Deep down, something inside tells me to run, get to the gate, get out. A repetitive chant that thrums in the back of my mind, growing in volume. Do I want to listen? No. But it’s still there, pounding against my brain.

Dragging a deep, wet breath into my lungs, blinking away the water dripping down my face, I finish my spin, facing Bucky and Steve.

They both stand in the doorway, knuckles white on the frame. Bucky’s eyes flicker from me to the gate, his face drawn in dark concentration. His body is coiled, prepared at a moment’s notice to bolt after me should I attempt to flee. Steve shifts on his feet with nerves jittering all over his body. His brows sit heavy over his eyes and his lips turn down in a perturbed frown.

Apparently this outing for me was impromptu enough that they overlooked the fine details, like escape routes I may choose to exploit.

My eyes flick to the side, head turning incrementally. I’m closer to the gate than I am to them. If I ran fast enough, I could make it out.

We stand in silence for a minute. Staring at each other and waiting for the first move. A standoff.

Tap, tap, tap, the rain falls.

My mind settles finally, becoming surprisingly quiet, almost blank. Lifting my hands from my side, I hold them out in a gesture of invitation.

“Daddy, come dance with me,” I call softly to him. A pleading look spreads over my features, brows sloped and eyes beseeching.

The tension leaks away from his stance, but Bucky shakes his head, a smirk spreading across his lips.

“The only one getting wet is you, baby,” he answers back with a snicker.

A pout puckers my bottom lip as I turn my eyes to Steve. The happy relief on his face turns my tummy to mush as he leans his head against the doorframe.

Without thinking, and caught up in swirling feelings of tenderness, I gesture with grabbing hands, “Come join me, you big teddy bear.”

And if it weren’t still raining, I think he would have rivaled the sun with the way he shines at the spontaneous endearment. He barrels out the door, soaked in an instant, but doesn’t seem to care as he sweeps me off my feet and spins us.

My fingers lace into his wet hair, brushing it away from his forehead as I hug myself around him, dizzy and dazed. “My teddy, Steve,” I coo into his lips with delirious delight.

“Yours,” he murmurs in reply before kissing me, melding our lips together until I’m gasping for air.

I draw away, panting, and press my forehead to his. “I’m sorry,” I whisper furtively. “I didn’t mean to scare you and Bucky.”

He shakes his head, spinning us once again and nearly slipping in the mud. I shriek as he cradles me close, safe and secure, keeping me warm in the cold splash of the rain, a laugh rumbling in his throat.

“Come on inside, you two,” Bucky calls from the house as he retreats back to his tasks in the kitchen with a smile on his face. “We don’t want you getting sick.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I missed any tags, let me know and I’ll add them! 
> 
> 💜
> 
> Also, if you want to drop by and say ‘hi’, here’s my [Tumblr!](http://foxgloveprincess.tumblr.com/)


	8. Day 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone isn’t feeling too well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHECK THE TAG UPDATE!  
> Tags Added: Cock Warming, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Common Cold
> 
> Hooray another chapter! I hope you guys like this one. I tried.

My muscles are sore when I wake up and I can’t stop shivering. A sensation like cotton dries my mouth and an aches stabs at my throat as I swallow. Rolling over in bed, I bury myself under my blankets until they cover my head and the warmth settles over my skin. But a chill still penetrates my body. Pulling my stuffed animal tight to my chest, my mouth opens and breathes hot air around me, the humidity filling the blanket.

Laying cocooned in the warmth, my mind gripes about the illness that has taken hold of me. Being sick when I was younger meant my mother taking care of me and nursing me back to health. It meant love and comfort helping me feel better. I haven’t experienced it since leaving for college. What I wouldn’t give for some of that tender attention right now.

“Sugar?”

My responding groan reverberates in my chest as I whimper in pain and misery. How did a tickle in my throat yesterday develop into this? Yes, I was out in the cold rain two days ago, but after warming in the house and feeling only vaguely under the weather yesterday, I thought it would pass after a good night’s sleep.

I burrow deeper, away from the edges of the blankets in the misguided hope that I will be left alone to wallow in my sick wretchedness. Steve and Bucky definitely do not need to see me in this state. They won’t like it, that’s for sure.

Hands tug at the blanket swathing me in warm safety. My fingers reluctantly release their hold on the fabric, finding Bucky glaring down at me from the side of my bed. His face, shadowed by irritation slowly transforms to concern as tears well in my eyes.

“Bucky,” I whimper, reaching up my hands and pulsing them in a grabby motion. The tears drip down my cheeks as my nose instantly clogs, forcing to breath out of my mouth. “I’m sorry.”

His hand feels my forehead, a furrow creasing his brow. Leaning into his touch, I thickly swallow down a sound of distress. His eyes soften in understanding, fingers tracing over my hot cheeks. 

“Don’t worry, babygirl, Stevie and I will take care of you.” His lips press against my forehead as he helps me lay back in my bed. “Let me go get you something to eat and drink to keep up your strength.” His hand brushes over my hair as he waits for my slow nod of acceptance.

Sleep descends quickly, dragging me down without resistance as my head throbs. But it does not keep me under, consciousness peeking through as I bob in and out of awareness.

Warm arms wrap around me, drawing me back to a firm chest. A nose brushes against the nape of my neck, pressing light kisses against the skin.

“Stevie,” I slur, shifting on the bed to draw away. The arms tighten and don’t release me. A petulant hum sounds from my lips. “Don’ wanna get’chu sick.”

“You won’t, sweetheart. Let me snuggle you,” Steve soothes as his hands brush over my stomach, coaxing me to drift off again.

I don’t know how long they let me sleep, Steve clinging to me like a second skin. But by the time consciousness breaks past the haze of illness, Bucky’s standing at my kitchenette counter with a pot sitting on a hot plate, ladling soup into a bowl, as the delectable aroma wafts through the air.

“She’s awake,” Steve calls over to his husband, helping me to sit up, bundling my blankets over my arms and legs as I begin to shiver.

“Come here, babygirl,” Bucky beckons with a soft look adorning his features.

My muscle ache even thinking of walking over to him. Yet despite that, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and attempt to stand. My knees tremble, and I wobble. But I have to keep Bucky happy, be grateful for the soup he no doubt cooked from scratch.

Sweeping me carefully off my feet at the first sign of collapsing weight, Steve carries me over to the table. The brunet accepts me into his arms and presses his forehead to mine.

“Oh, baby love, you’re burning up, aren’t you?” he coos as he seats us comfortably and picks up the spoon, swirling it through the soup.

I slurp as Bucky feeds me, slumping against his body and sighing in muted joy. Though I can’t taste much, the warmth of the broth soothes my throat and Bucky’s love, added to each bite, sits on my tongue.

“Do you want me to call Bruce to get her checked out?” Steve asks as he scoots his chair close and rubs his hands along my legs, draping a blanket over my lap to keep me warm.

Bucky’s forehead rests against my cheek as he sighs, “Yeah, give him a call.” His lips buss a kiss against my jaw as he lifts another spoonful of soup to my lips. “Just to make sure our li’l girl can feel better as soon as possible.”

Steve nods, grabbing his phone out of his pocket and tapping out a message. As he waits for a response, he walks to my bed, grabbing up my favorite stuffed animal and tucking against his chest.

“Do you think we could take her upstairs?” The blond asks as he sits back beside his husband. “It’s warmer up there.”

Bucky’s eyes narrow as he thinks. His lips purse and a whine echoes in my throat, followed by a heaving coughing fit as the sound scratches against the tender passage. Warm hands rub over my back as I curl over my lap with the exertion. My brows pinch as I lean back, snuggling into the arms embracing me.

My eyes trace over Bucky’s face, drawn in consideration. His brow furrowed, his jaw clenched. Landing on his plush lips, a pout sits on mine, a thought breaking through the cloud of fever with a brilliance that would rival the stars. His gaze flickers down to me, clearing of his deliberation and squinting in a silent question.

“I wanna kiss you, daddy,” I admit with a sullen grumble, “But I don’t wanna get you sick.”

Bucky’s fond chuckle rumbles in his throat as he leans down and presses rapid kisses all over my face, keeping away from my lips. Face pulled tight with his bright smile, his eyes shine with profound delight.

“Precious li’l sick baby, being so sweet and soft and sappy, maybe I should keep you like this all the time,” he muses as he feeds me my last spoonful of soup, his tongue peeking out to lick over his lower lip. His fingers skirt over mine as he does, wiping away any dribbles of the broth and pushing them into my mouth. I suck around his digits, head woozy from fever and comforted by the oral stimulation.

“Bucky, don’t,” Steve implores, brows sitting low over his eyes and lips turned down at the corners.

Bucky snorts and scratches his stubble across my neck. He hums, breaking into laughter as his eyes meet his husband’s. Steve’s grip pulses around the stuffed animal in his arms and they stare at each other for a moment, engaging in silent conversation until coming to some conclusion.

“Go to your Stevie bear,” Bucky instructs, quiet and soft, with a delicate shove to my side. “He’ll take you upstairs, make sure you’re all cozy.”

I stand on wobbly legs, my feet tripping over the blanket that falls from my lap, and collapse into Steve’s waiting arms, burrowing close to his warmth and clutching at the stuffed animal in his grasp. Secured in his embrace, the blond picks me up and carries me from the basement and up to the den on the second story.

Immediately, the warmth of the house washes through me, body shivering, shaking as the heated air blows over cold skin. Steve sets me delicately on the couch and allows me to draw the stuffed animal away from his grasp. He tucks the blanket around my reclining form and presses a kiss to my forehead, draping his body over mine, pinning me to the cushions.

“Bucky was just joking earlier,” Steve mentions as we snuggle together. Though his tone is skeptical as he speaks. “He wouldn’t make you sick to keep you subdued. You’re already being so good for us, our best girl.”

I nod, floating on foggy exhaustion and letting his words drift over my head without paying them any attention.

Sinking in and out of sleep, Bucky eventually joins us, tilting my head to sip juice with an unpalatable, medicinal aftertaste and check my temperature. He adjusts the blankets around me, pressing his lips to my forehead and petting my hair as he watches me sleep.

The doorbell rings, echoing through the room and jarring me firmly away from the realm of dreams. Bucky leaves the den, jogging from the room and down the stairs to answer the door. He returns not long later with a man trailing behind him with a leather satchel.

“Babygirl, why don’t you say hello to Dr. Banner?” Bucky gestures for the man to enter the room, ushering him beside me and helping me adjust to sit up as Steve withdraws from my side.

“Hello, doctor,” I croak through a dry mouth, glancing around for a drink to quench my growing thirst. Bucky tilts my head and helps me sip more juice. My nose scrunches as I swallow.

“Hello, Sugar,” the man greets with deep, kind eyes. He places his bag beside him as he sits on the coffee table, flipping it open and starting the examination with his eyes. “Steve told me that you aren’t feeling well today.”

I nod as my head tilts to the side, his voice ringing in the back of my head as I try to place where I’ve heard it before.

His lips tilt in a semblance of something that could easily turn into an encouraging smile. “Alright, then, let’s see if we can figure out what’s wrong with you.”

Snapping bright purple gloves on his hands, he reaches out. My eyes flit to Steve and Bucky as they stand off to the side, nerves dancing up my spine. But they simply observe, eyes attentive and arms crossed, waiting for the diagnosis.

The first cold, clinical touch takes me back to every doctor’s appointment I’ve ever had. But when Dr. Banner presses his fingers against my neck, right by my lymph nodes, my mind hurtles back to my time in the closet. To the muted tone and delicate fingers.

A gasp chokes me as my head jerks back. But the doctor’s hand stays steady on my neck, keeping me within his grasp.

“Don’t worry, I’m here to help you,” he reassures in a low tone.

My responding whimper attracts Steve’s notice, his feet taking a step forward, but Bucky holds him back. He leans in, whispering something in the blond’s ear and rubs his hand over Steve’s pec. He relaxes, but keeps his eyes sharp on the doctor as he continues to examine me.

I swallow hard, my tongue feeling like a leaden weight in my mouth as I turn to the seemingly docile man—who once sedated me like it was nothing.

He shoves a thermometer under my tongue and listens to my heart, checking various parts of my body with probing fingers. He’s thorough and professional, but I can’t help but feel on edge as it continues, waiting for the unexpected sting of the needle.

“I need to check the back of your neck,” he mutters to himself, picking up my hair and holding it away from my skin while he leans to get a better look. His fingers poke and prod, almost searching for something. “Any tenderness?”

“No,” I answer quietly. My mind briefly wanders on thoughts of how a tender nape could possibly indicate any illness, but it comes up with no explanation.

“Tony will be happy to hear that.” The doctor smiles and leans back in his seat, withdrawing his hands and letting my hair fall. Before I even get a chance to contemplate that seeming non sequitur, he asks, “How have you been holding up?”

“Holding up?” I question with my head cocked to the side.

“Yes, in your confinement,” he clarifies, tone mildly detached and distracted while he rummages through his bag for a notebook and pen.

“I don’t understand.” My eyes search for Bucky, hoping to find the right answer with him, but his face remains an unreadable mask as he meets my gaze.

“Do you have any complaints, any concerns, anything like that?” The pen in his hand clicks, his eyes sweeping over me.

“N-no,” I whisper, shaking my head and dropping my chin toward my chest. “Bucky and Steve are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’m grateful—more than.”

The doctor’s head tilts on his shoulders, gaze shrewd and unsatisfied, “But…”

I fidget in my seat, shifting on my bottom and scrunching the blanket in my fists. My teeth worry over my lower lip before parting to mutter, “It’s just cold in my room sometimes.”

My eyes squeeze shut as my hand clasp together with white knuckles, expecting an explosive reaction. Strong hands manhandling me, shouted words of dispute. But nothing happens. I glance up, gauging each man’s expression and seeing nothing to cause concern. Relief washes through me, building fragile confidence in my chest.

Dr. Banner hums. “Anything else that may be the cause of your fever?”

“She was out in the rain a couple days ago,” Bucky answers while taking a decisive step forward. “But it was for less than twenty minutes and we made sure to warm her right up when she came inside.”

Heat crawls up my cheeks as my mind goes fuzzy, remembering just how Bucky had warmed me up with Steve—a reward for his babygirl, he called it. My thighs squeeze together as desire pools in my core.

Something indiscernible flashes across Dr. Banner’s face, glancing at the man standing a little ways off. “You’re already letting her out?”

“We’ve told you before,” Steve replies, pride shining in his tone, “we know what we’re doing.” His sunny smile breaks over his face as his gaze lands on me.

My head drops to stare at my lap, pressing my lips together to suppress a dizzy grin. My fingers pick at the fleece of the blanket, tugging at the ties around the edges, waiting for the conversation to require my input.

The doctor stays quiet for a moment, eyes pensive as they land on me. He calmly places his remaining equipment back in his bag with great care. Everything organized in its place. My eyes watch through my lashes, tracking every movement, waiting for something inexplicable on the horizon, the thing that’s making my hair start to stand on end at the base of my skull.

“Well,” he finally mumbles. “It appears to be a common cold bug that will pass in a few days, not an infection or something equally as concerning. Regular cold medicine should work fine. If her temperature gets too high, you can give her a tepid bath.” He pauses, eyes narrowing on my face. Nerves skitter up my spine the longer his smoldering gaze remains, unrelenting in his focus. “Or, if you like, I can try to break the fever with some old-fashioned manual massage. Some people believe that stimulating sweat helps the body regain healthy equilibrium faster.” His tongue flicks out, wetting his lips, waiting for the answer—for permission.

Bucky’s steps thud precisely on the carpet as he approaches the doctor from behind. A firm hand lands on Dr. Banner’s shoulder and grips, fingers pressing indents into the jacket adorning the man’s slouched shoulders.

“Bruce,” Bucky growls through gritted teeth, “you’re my friend, but I’ll only say this once.” He leans over the older man, a menacing glare on his face as he presses close. “If you ever even think about touching Sugar like that again, I’ll smash your hands to a bloody pulp and cut your dick off.” With the threat hanging in the air, Bucky takes a step back, face still pinched with fury as he crosses his arms over his chest and glares at the back of the doctor’s head.

Dr. Banner clears his throat, hands pressing down the front of his shirt as he stands. “Well, gentlemen, then my work here is done. I’ll be sure to tell Tony that his chip is working fine, no infection or other apparent side effects.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Steve offers with a gesture toward the door and a stormy expression lining his face. He casts a glance to his husband, a firm nod exchanged, before following the man out of the den and down the stairs.

My mind, though, disregards the exchange, trapped on the doctor’s last comment. “What chip, daddy?” I ask as Bucky sits on the couch next to me, slinging his arm over my shoulder and coaxing my body close.

“Don’t worry about it, baby, it’s just something for if you ever get lost. So we’ll always be able to find you.” His other hand lands on the blanket, pushing under the fabric to find my thigh, tracing the flesh with light, tickling fingers.

Though his response doesn’t answer my question directly, even my fevered head grasps understanding. I’ve been microchipped me like a dog—to track my movements, to always know where I am. Squirming in my spot, I process the information, thoughts solidifying in my clouded mind.

Shaky hands reach up to find my nape, pressing lightly on the skin until I find a solid bump—smaller than the birth control implant in my arm, but just as artificial. My hand flexes as goosebumps pop up along my arms.

“Hey,” Bucky purrs, fingers tracing over my cheek, tilting my head in his direction. “Don’t be pouty.” His eyes bore into me as he observes my movements, waiting for something. “Tell me how you feel.”

I contemplate my response for a moment, taking an inventory of the sensations and emotion racing though me, blinking owlishly as I gather them all together. “Confused, sleepy, achy, scared.” My lips turn down in a pathetic frown, exhaustion creeping over the edges of my consciousness.

“Then daddy will have to take care of you, won’t he?” Bucky responds with a kiss to my temple. He scoots away, shifting his position, leaning back into the corner of the couch and splaying out his legs. His arms open wide as he gestures me to come closer. “Come here, baby love. I know something that’ll make you feel all better.”

Crawling slowly onto his lap, I straddle his thighs and angle my body to perch comfortably atop him. His hands smooth over the cloth of my pajamas, tracing shapes with his fingers and smoothing over my back.

Sneaking his hand down my side, his fingers flit to the apex of my thighs, pressing against me through the fabric.

“Don’t worry,” he rasps while pushing aside the gusset of my romper and panties. “I’m gonna make you feel all cuddly and warm.”

His fingers seek out my clit, swirling it in slow circles as heat pools in my core. Fire ignites in my veins, head swimming in delirious fever and desire. Hips bucking to grind against his hand, he holds my waist in a firm grip, keeping me in place. Climbing higher and higher toward climax, my breath shudders from my lungs as my vision dances.

A whine echoes in my throat as he withdraws his touch, leaving me sitting on the precipice of release. His hands, instead, move to his belt and the fastening of his jeans. He works quickly, undoing the button and zipper until he can shimmy the fabric of his pants and boxers out of the way. His cock springs free, slapping against his abs as he adjusts his posture.

Smirk sitting on his lips, he pulls me over him, his leaking head pressing against my entrance, sliding through the slickness between my thighs. My breath hiccups in my lungs as he knocks tenderly against my clit. He holds himself steady as he lowers me onto his length, filling me full and stretching me wide.

He allows me time to adjust for a moment, getting used to the penetration, but I don’t need it. My hips starting to roll, grinding down and lifting slightly to bounce atop him.

He groans, brows pinching together while his eyelids flutter. His hand pops a smack on my ass, squeezing the tender flesh as he grunts, “No moving, baby.”

“W-what?” I ask, baffled. Surely, he wants me to move, to chase our highs together, rut our way to bliss.

But I listen, my hips stilling, sheathing him fully, my movements ceasing. Doubt creeps into my thoughts, second-guessing every breath out of my lungs.

Bucky leans forward, moving me with him with a simultaneous moan, as he grabs the blanket off the couch and wraps it around my shoulders, arranging it over my body until I’m completely covered. He slips my favorite stuffed animal into my arms and pulls my chest flush to his. A sigh of relief blows over my cheek as he presses a kiss to my head.

“Relax, baby,” he encourages with a calm persuasion in his voice. “It’s just you and me.”

“But daddy—”

His hand covers my mouth with a strong grip, eyes steel sharp. “No more talking. Daddy’s giving you the best care in the world. Be a good girl and relax.” His eyebrow cocks as he keeps our gazes fixed on each other. “Don’t make daddy stuff your mouth.”

Eyes widening, I nod behind his hand, pressing my lips to his palm. Pulling a deep breath into my lungs, my eyes flutter shut and I let my body sag against his.

While my mind still pings with distracting thoughts about what exactly Bucky is aiming for with this exercise, I try to focus on the rhythm of his breathing and the musky, sweet scent of his cologne as it fills my nose. One of his hands smooths a path over my back and, gradually, every tinge of tension evaporates.

Every once in a while, Bucky adjusts our position, fingers dancing over my sex as he plays with my body, keeping us both aroused and conducive to our activity. But my mind grows foggier the longer we sit in silence, despite the jolts of stimulation. And my eyes droop, head finding a place to rest on Bucky’s shoulder.

A pleased hum reverberates in Bucky’s chest as he catches my drowsiness and a tingle spreads down my spine. My arms tighten around my soft toy while I snuggle closer, feeling the pull of his girth within me and sighing at the sensation.

Sleep gently carries me off once more, sitting on my daddy’s lap, precious and snug on his cock. Too far gone to ponder what will happen next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to give a shout-out/credit to [@SherryBaby14](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherryBaby14/pseuds/SherryBaby14) who wrote [The Distraction](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17745425/chapters/41868482), [SPOILER!] which is where I read about the microchip in the reader’s neck. That story is seriously so amazing, and though it has been a while since I read it, I really enjoyed that little reveal. I tried to take inspiration from how that story uses the chip and create my own spin on it. Because SherryBaby14 is an amazing writer with a ton of awesome stories. You should check them out if you haven’t already!
> 
> 💜
> 
> If I missed any tags, let me know and I’ll add them! 
> 
> 💜
> 
> Also, if you want to drop by and say ‘hi’, here’s my [Tumblr!](http://foxgloveprincess.tumblr.com/)


	9. Day 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha’s back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MIND THE TAG UPDATE  
> Tag Added: Allusions to Human Trafficking (though not explicitly stated, there is implied references to human trafficking in some capacity)
> 
> Hope you like the new chapter. It took me a bit to write.

Mind wandering and head cocking to the side, I stare at the woman sitting before me, absorbed in her work, unflappable.

The question comes unbidden, popping into the front of my mind. Springing forth like a new bloom in the spring, something I can’t ignore.

“Do you know a lot of people like me?”

Natasha’s brow quirks as she picks up a beige nail polish and shakes it in her hand. “People like you?” she inquires, “You mean…” She leaves the end of her sentence open for my elucidation, hanging in the air like a challenge.

“Uhm,” I start and clear my throat, “people who may or may not be, uh, held against their will?” A wince crosses my face as I say it out loud, not the right words—too harsh and inaccurate. I try again. “Or, rather, someone kept sequestered without their prior consent?”

“I see,” she hums, drawing out the word as if rolling it around her tongue.

Her brow furrows with contemplation, meticulously continuing the steps of her final task as my beautician—repainting my nails after filling the acrylic. She doesn’t answer until she finishes painting the base coat of both hands, waiting for the beige gel paint to dry under the UV lamp.

Her eyes avoid mine, free hand searching through her bag, drawing out the moment. As she produces brushes and dotting tools, her eyes squint minutely, as if trying to discern some universal truth from them.

She grabs my hands, placing them before her, fingers cradling my palm, gentle.

“Look, Sugar,” she confesses, still refusing to meet my gaze, but opening another bottle of polish, “people like you aren’t common, but I have met a few.”

My jaw drops, mouth gaping at her statement. Searching for something to say, I swallow around the lump forming in my throat.

“You have to understand, though, you and the others I know aren’t like the tortured victims you see in movies and on television.” Natasha shakes her head, her red curls bouncing around her head, brushing her cheeks like a kiss. “Steve and Bucky wouldn’t stand for that kind of thing in their borough.”

My head nods before I process what she’s said. Once the words ring in my ear, reverberating through my skull, I freeze. My mouth dries, regret seeping through the shock. A siren blares in my head. Abort! Abort! Abortabort _abort_. My head begins to shake, like a tremor, as I realize my mistake.

“All of you are treasured and protected in the ways that you need,” she continues, adamantly.

She begins the delicate design on my nails—wintery white snowflakes with just a bit of glitter. But I can’t pay attention to the delicate strokes of her brush, too focused on trying to claw myself toward understanding and calm.

My heart pounds in my ears and my breathing accelerates, unwelcome panic grabbing hold and refusing to easily let go. Her fingers smooth across my knuckles in a comforting gesture. It doesn’t work very well.

“I didn’t mean to upset you. Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this.”

“Do you have anyone in your basement?” I blurt, unthinkingly but needing to hear her answer.

“No, I do not,” she states calmly, painting still with a steady hand. She sighs. “Pietro and Wanda don’t need as much supervision anymore, so Clint and I let them have their jobs—”

“At The Line,” I murmur, the faces of the twins flashing across my mind.

Pietro greeting me with a smile behind the counter. Wanda peeking over at me in the kitchen. They had always been so kind. And they’re kept by Natasha, like me.

But then my mind halts, focusing like a laser on one detail so close to slipping my notice.

“Clint?” My voice quavers over the name, dread soaking into my stomach.

“Yes, Clint,” she answers placidly, her green eye flicking to mine. She watches me unblinking like a cat, brush stilled. “Your former landlord.”

I nod numbly, letting the information register, a laugh bubbling up my throat. Hysteria surges to the surface, rising like the tide, like the last weeks of contented bliss with Steve and Bucky never happened. I was right back at the beginning. Thrown for a loop and reeling.

Because, of course. My whole life after meeting them—apparently, a cleverly constructed ruse to lure me in. A gigantic conspiracy. Their love for me so all-encompassing, they couldn’t leave anything to fate, to chance, to choice.

Dragging a shaky breath into my lungs, I blink away the moisture building in my eyes and push away the low level panic in my gut.

I’m not upset—I’m _not_. It makes sense. They’re the ones who helped me figure out what I needed for an apartment, the best places to look in the neighborhood. When they trapped me, they knew where I lived and were able to bring all my stuff into the basement like it was nothing. How else would they keep me safe if they didn’t know where I lived? It makes sense.

“Good girl,” Natasha praises, placing down her brush and my hand, standing and stepping close to run her fingers over my hair. “Just breathe.”

My head bobs as I calm down, resting against her abdomen, swallowing down the lump of despair in my throat until it disappears deep inside. Steve and Bucky love me. They _love_ me. And they know what’s best.

I drag a deep, cleansing breath into my lungs, expelling any lingering tension and relaxing back to a state of compliant serenity.

Natasha sighs, a pleased sound that moves my head with her breath, “I can see why Steve and Bucky like you. You’re such a sweet girl. So good at self-soothing, realizing we only want what’s best.” Her lips stretch into a nurturing smile, wiping her thumb over my cheek as she tilts my head up.

My gaze locks with hers, pride shining bright in her eyes. I shift in my seat, the sentiment of her comments not hitting the same as when Bucky or Steve say stuff like that, though it’s not in any way repellant or unpleasant.

My teeth bite into my lower lip, dragging the flesh into my mouth and pressing my lips together. Heat crawls up my neck, embarrassment creeping in as she observes me, unwavering.

Natasha drops my cheek, sits back down, and picks up her tool to complete the finishing touches of glitter before the top coat. “Maybe we can set up a playdate with Wanda and Pietro.” She blows a gentle breath across the drying polish, lips quirked in a grin, like she’s discussing pleasant weather. “They miss seeing you at the café, though they’re happy you’re where you belong now. And Clint can check in on you. He gets so concerned about the little ones once he’s sent them off to their new homes, you know.”

Though I hear what she says, the way she preens as she places my hands under the UV lamp for the last time, my mind remains focused on counting my breaths—inhaling for a count of 4, holding for 7, and exhaling for 8—fighting back the new spike of alarm.

Her eyes dance with eagerness and I try to mirror it on my own, stretching my lips in a wide grin. But my face feels stiff, about to crack like concrete.

I need Bucky and Steve.

“There we go,” Natasha says cheerily, presenting the nail art for my inspection.

A genuine smile breaks across my lips, lighting up my eyes. It’s gorgeous. I’m sure the boys will love it, too.

Her hand reaches out, cradling the side of my face as her thumb brushes over the apple of my cheek.

“You are happy, yes?”

“Yes, of course.” My reply is quick, automatic, like a pre-programmed response from a machine. But it’s not untrue in this moment, when I’m back in that sated place of devotion to Bucky and Steve—far away from questions without answers.

She nods with a final hum of pride, and packs away her supplies. Her lips land on my forehead as she stands, and I follow her movement, rising from my chair to help her.

The redhead sweeps through the room, folding her table and hefting it under her arms while I place bottles, containers, and tools in her giant bag. The strap of her duffle rests on my shoulder as I fall into step behind her, following slowly as she walks to the door, opens it, and begins ascending the stairs.

It’s strange, this freedom to roam around the house, away from my room—something that has only started in the past several days while I recovered from my cold. The basement door no longer beeps or whirs with mechanized locks and I’ve come to miss the sound in the way someone would miss a sock they lost in the washing machine.

Steve stands at the top of the stairs, hands shoved in his pockets and a grin sitting on his lips, the strained expression not reaching his eyes. He holds a hand out to me, which I gladly accept as we approach, tugging myself to him and pressing a kiss to his cheek as soon as I step close enough.

“Let me see your new nails, princess,” he murmurs, circling my waist with his arm.

I hold out my hand, trembling slightly as I’m once again consumed by an eerie feeling of trepidation by being in the man’s presence. Like he somehow saw my thoughts as Natasha’s admission tilted my world on its axis. Like he’ll hold it against me, though I know he won’t. I berate myself internally for such distorted thoughts while Steve examines my hand, pressing a kiss to the back of my palm.

“Beautiful.” His fingers wrap around the strap of the duffle, slipping it over my shoulder and holding the bag in his grip. “Why don’t you go find Bucky, he’s baking in the kitchen and would love your company.”

I nod quickly, ambling away from the blond, missing his warm embrace. My eyes glance back after a few steps, catching one last glimpse of him. He’s turned to Natasha, a stern expression washing over his features. My gaze whips away, not wanting to be privy to whatever they are about to discuss.

Each step toward the kitchen, a short distance that stretches like a mile, lightens my heart, filling me with joy and levity, right back to normal.

The swell of music in the air greets me as I turn into the room, Bucky singing along to Bing Crosby while he kneads dough with his hands. I take a moment to watch him, the bunching of the muscles in his arms, the smear of flour over his cheek, the curving of his lips around the lyrics.

Bucky and Steve love me, protect me, take care of me. How we got to this point doesn’t matter—it _doesn’t_. I can ignore the new revelations, the tracking chip and my landlord. Because in the grand scheme of things, I’m theirs.

My feet pad into the room, hands tugging along the hem of my dress. I approach the island countertop where Bucky works from the side. His lips twitch toward a smile, but he doesn’t otherwise acknowledge my movement. Wrapping my arms around his waist from behind, my chin notches over his shoulder, relaxing against him.

“Daddy, I missed you,” I sigh, pressing my lips to the hinge of his jaw.

He ceases his kneading, folding the edges of the dough under until the surface is smooth. Placing it in an oiled glass bowl, he turns in my arms, hands held away to avoid getting flour on me. His lips meet mine in a sweet, chaste kiss that curls my toes in my socks.

Scooting out of the way, Bucky walks toward the sink, washing off the excess flour and bits of sticky dough. As he dries his hands with the cloth towel, he leans against the quartz countertop, eyes perceptive, analytical.

“Tell me,” he says, hanging the towel and crossing the distance between us. His hands rest on the counter to my sides, caging me in and pressing our bodies close.

I don’t respond—can’t figure out how.

“Tell me,” he repeats, a low whisper in my ear.

My teeth bite into my cheek, face grimacing. I don’t want to say anything, though how he reads me like a book, I can’t lie. But my mind scrambles for words to safely convey my thoughts, finding nothing. My head shakes, unwilling to give voice to that mucky feeling of doubt that sprang up during my conversation with Natasha.

“Don’t make me punish you, babygirl.” His thumb brushes over my lips, forehead resting against mine.

Heart stuttering in my chest, my lips part. “Natasha was just telling me about Clint, that’s all.” Dipping my chin, I stare at the center of Bucky’s chest. “It just surprised me,” I mutter petulantly.

“But you know that we’ve only ever done what’s best for you, right?”

His breath brushes over my temples as his hands sneak around my waist. My head bobs in a hasty, enthusiastic nod, following his steps as he guides us away from the flour-covered worktop and toward a patch of clean surface.

He manipulates my stance, twirling me around to press his front to my back, spreading my legs apart and curling my upper half to rest on the counter. A shiver runs down my spine, fear and anticipation tingling through my veins as he flips my skirt over my back, exposing my undies to his view. Heat rises in my cheeks and pools in my core as I fight the instinct to fidget.

“So pretty,” he says, a light squeeze to the flesh of my ass.

His fingers slip under my waistband, dragging the material of my panties down my thighs. When they drop to my ankles he helps me step out of them, tucking the fabric into his pocket.

A groan bursts out of his lips as his gaze lands on my most intimate place, spread wide and starting to drip.

A firm hand keeps me pressed to the counter as his touch skirts over my core, fluttering against the petals of my sex and delving into the accumulating lust that smears across his fingers.

“Look at that.” His pleased smirk tints the tone of his voice like dripping honey. “So soft and wet, just like my girl should be.” He crowds over me, pressing a kiss to the column of my throat, voice a husky whisper as he says, “We gotta make you forget about your concerns, though, baby. Can’t have you worried about unimportant matters. That’s what me and Stevie are here for.”

My mouth dries and I gasp as his fingers dip into me, stretching my channel and pressing against my walls. My hips buck in response and grind back, aching for more. He withdraws with a throaty groan, the snick of his zipper piercing through the lust slowly clouding my mind.

“Isn’t that right, baby love?”

His tip brushes against my entrance unexpectedly, and my hips jolt forward, pressing harshly against edge of the cold stone counter. My tongue licks over my lips, breaths panting past them as I shake my head to clear it, just enough to answer.

“Yes, daddy,” I reply.

And he plunges into me, inch by mind-altering inch. My forehead presses to the quartz, mouth gasping open on a low moan as he bottoms out, sheathed to the hilt.

Pinning me to the island, Bucky begins to move, thrusting his hips, building up momentum and friction as we connect intimately. His lips find my shoulder, mouth sucking marks meant to bruise. My muscles clench around him as he sucks at my pulse point and he chuckles. Teeth nip at my neck until I gasp and arch into him, pain overcome by pleasure.

“There we go,” Bucky grunts as his hips rut into me, picking up their pace, his grip keeping me flush against the counter. “Just like that.”

He hums and grinds into me, cock pulsing and swelling against my walls. He hisses and slows momentarily.

“Daddy,” I mewl, attempting to lift myself from the cold stone.

He drapes himself over my body in response, knocking me back down, flat. His left hand locks around mine, stretching out my arm and entwining our fingers together.

“Cum for me, baby,” he purrs in my ear, that honey-rich sound that has me canting my hips back to meet his.

Bucky’s right hand pets down my abdomen, finding its way to the apex of my thighs, fingers rubbing my clit in tight, frantic circles. A choked sound of surprise escapes me, eyes squeezing shut.

He sinks his teeth into the crook of my shoulder with a grunt, the pain bursting with pleasure, keeping me on a knife’s edge.

I curse, a breathy exaltation urging Bucky to keep going. His pace accelerates, the stimulation building until my mind blanks, white taking over my vision as my muscles clench and I cum. A drawn-out moan keens from my chest as Bucky keeps thrusting into me, chasing his release and spilling inside me moments later with a low groan.

His chest crushes me in the most delightful way as he draw panting breaths into his lungs. He hums with pleasure, my lower half lurching as he lazily curves his hips into mine a few more times. I whine in response, barely keeping myself glued to the counter, legs ready to collapse beneath me and too sensitive for more.

Bucky’s hand pulses against mine while his lips find my shoulder where he bit me the hardest, bussing a kiss to the mark.

“You enjoy the show?” he asks, head tilting to the side, resting it between my shoulder blades.

My head turns in the direction of the doorway, curiosity piquing, though the movement is lethargic.

Steve stands in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes blown wide and dark with lust. His throat bobs with a thick swallow and he steps forward. His head nods, eyes locked on my prone figure.

With a sibilant sound, Bucky withdraws his cock from me, tucking himself back into his jeans and zipping them up. His hand rests, warm, on my lower back, to keep me propped and snug against the counter. But his eyes remain locked on his husband with a mischievous gleam.

“You wanna help me clean up my mess?”

“Please,” Steve responds immediately.

My hands push my body up from the counter, knees shaking as I gather my wits back into my brain. I blink slowly as Bucky retreats over to his flour-covered work surface. He covers the glass bowl with a towel and picks up his scraper, starting to clean up the excess flour for disposal.

A warm figure presses to my back, hands gripping my hips. With no warning, I’m spun in the air and placed on the counter top. Steve inserts himself between my thighs, hand reaching out to drag a barstool beneath him. His hands push my legs wide, eyes locked on my center as Bucky’s essence leaks from me.

“What are you doing, teddy?” I ask, words slightly slurred and eyes locked on his face.

Steve doesn’t respond, descending on me like a starving man. His lips and tongue attack me, intent on my pleasure. I gasp as he concentrates on my overstimulated clit, squirming to detach him. Hands rake through his hair in the effort to push him away, but he does not budge.

“Let him clean you up, baby.” Bucky sighs into my hair, pushing it behind my ear and pressing a kiss to my temple. “Daddy made you messy and you know how much your bear likes tasting us.”

I whine, high and breathy, hips rocking against Steve’s face as lust overwhelms my mind, feeling that dripping want pooling within me.

“Now, I have a few things to take care of, so I’m just gonna leave you with Steve,” the brunet announces. A finger boops my nose in a cutesy gesture, reeling back my attention from the haze. “He won’t be letting up anytime soon.” Bucky’s hand sinks into blond hair, pulling him away from me and tilting his face to lock their gazes. “Will you?”

With dazed and glossy eyes, Steve shakes his head and smiles.

“That’s my boy—never been good with moderation.” He presses a kiss to Steve’s lips, licking over the glistening flesh, and releases him back to his pursuit of making me cum. “Enjoy yourself, babygirl.”

My mind scrambles for reason, fighting past the fog of desire that drags me toward senselessness. My nails dig into Steve’s shoulders as the precipice of climax looms closer. I fight it back, eyes pleading with Bucky. He simply backs away, keeping his eyes on us until he reaches the doorway.

“Wait!” I cry around a moan, eyes fluttering as I try to focus on Bucky. “Daddy, please, don’t!” My eyes well with tears, but before I can hear his answer, my orgasm crashes over me, swelling and dragging me under until my body collapses back and lays flat against the counter.

Bucky’s chuckle drifts through the room, quieting as his footsteps signal his movement through the hallway.

A sob rips through my chest, caught between ecstasy and uncertainty as thick fingers press into my entrance, massaging my walls and bringing me over the precipice again.

And Steve doesn’t stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter. It took a bit to finish. I try to update every week, but last week and this week are busy ones for me, so there probably won’t be another chapter this coming weekend.
> 
> If I missed any tags, let me know and I’ll add them! 
> 
> 💜
> 
> Also, if you want to drop by and say ‘hi’, here’s my [Tumblr!](http://foxgloveprincess.tumblr.com/)


	10. Day 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something slips out and causes a lot of trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MIND THE TAG UPDATE!  
> Tags Added: Anal Sex, Double Penetration, and Love Confessions
> 
> Be careful with this chapter. There might be some things that are more intense with this. Just be aware. Know your limits.
> 
> Let me know if I’m missing any tags. I try my best.
> 
> And I know I said I probably wouldn’t update this weekend, but I guess I lied. I finished this chapter and edited it instead of going to bed at a reasonable time. So enjoy!

“Relax, babygirl,” Bucky purrs, dancing his fingers around my ribs as Steve presses his length against my puckered hole.

I squirm atop Bucky, shifting on his cock as it twitches within me. He flexes his fingers, darting to grip my hips and stop my movements while his husband pushes past the tight ring of muscle. The crown of his cock pops into me and my breath hitches in my lungs.

Slowly thrusting deeper, his hips rock against mine, slick with lube and his dripping excitement. My face buries into Bucky’s neck, grunting and whining into the skin until the blond sheathes himself fully within me.

This is not the first time one of them has taken my ass. Bucky popped that cherry a few days ago, gradually stretching me with plugs until he thought I could take his cock—and then wrecking me until I nearly passed out.

But this—this is new.

Static crackles in my brain, thoughts overwhelmed by sensations as Bucky begins to move beneath me. Steve’s arms band like steel around my stomach, gripping onto my body like a lifeline. His breath puffs in my ear, a whine quiet in his throat.

“God, Buck, she’s so tight,” he groans through gritted teeth.

A smirk sits on the brunet’s lips, pumping his cock into my slick channel and creating friction that short-circuits my brain. Steve’s not even _moving_ and I already feel ready to burst apart at the seams, explode into a million bits. I’ve never felt so full and stretched. The sensation on the verge of too much to bear.

Bucky’s hands cradle my face, tilting it away from his neck and forcing my eyes to his.

“Oh, baby love, look at your face,” he coos, words broken by a moan. “We might end up breaking you this time, huh?”

He knocks the breath out of my lungs as his hips surge up on a harsh thrust. My head falls back, resting in the crook of Steve’s shoulder and the blond presses kisses to my pulse point.

“I don’t wanna break her, Buck,” Steve rasps, sweat slick cheek resting against mine.

“Don’t worry. I just wanna fuck our baby until she sees stars,” Bucky croons, caressing his husband’s face. His hand slides behind Steve’s neck, pulling on blond hair and clashing their lips together over my shoulder.

Their moans and mewls reverberate in my ears, heat flushing through me as my body clenches around them.

Bucky rubs his thumb over Steve’s lips as they part, chests heaving. “Gonna be a good boy and help me?”

“Yes,” Steve pants with a nod.

His hips begin tentatively rocking against me, picking up in tempo as he finds rhythm with his husband. My eyes widen, lips parting on a gasp, need rampaging through my blood.

Breathy whimpers echo through the room, punched out of my chest with each plunge of their cocks. Pleasure soaks me in its heady bliss, building and coiling the knot within me tighter and tighter, seeking that familiar euphoric high.

Steve flicks my nipples from behind, kneading the flesh of my breasts and whispering sweetness into my ear. Bucky’s eyes stay vigilantly on my face, analyzing each breath and each twitch of expression.

“Come on, Sugar, give us what we want,” he purrs, fingers delving between my folds and focusing on my clit.

My hips jolt away, too overwhelmed by the stimulation, crashing into a blistering hot wave of ecstasy. Tears drip from my eyes, wiped away by Steve’s tongue as he cranes my head back to watch me shatter apart.

“I—” The words choke, gurgled in the back of my throat.

Steve plunges his tongue into my mouth, as if to suck my soul from my body. A desperate whine twitters in my chest, fingers digging into Bucky’s pecs as I kiss the blond man behind me. My head floats higher and higher, drifting away from my body, lost in desire and passion.

Bucky increases his pace, breaking away from the established rhythm to chase after his own peak. His fingers continue their assault on my clit, dragging me over the precipice of climax one last time as I gasp a breathless cry. His hips stutter, warm release coating my walls as he grunts and sinks his teeth into my shoulder. Steve continues to pound into my ass, until he, too, spends himself inside me with a guttural moan.

“I-I love you.”

The three word burst past my lips before I can swallow them down, dragged from some deep crevice inside me.

Through the sound of their panting breaths, my world halts, a record scratching in my brain, jolting me out of my hazy afterglow. Icy water plunges down my spine, soaking through my blood as I momentarily freeze.

My hands shake as I push against Bucky’s chest, itching to bolt away from them both. The arms around my middle contract, pulling me closer and pinning me in place.

Steve’s breath blows over my cheeks as he shushes me, soothing and gentle. I can’t see his face, but Bucky’s smile sits wide and bright on his face, full of adoring light and soft happiness. His fingers reach up and caress my face, eyes lingering on my lips.

My throat narrows as I swallow.

While the sentiment is true—I do love them, both, so wholly with my entire being—something inside me riots against expressing it. And all I can think is that I need to get away, to _go_.

I stay still, though. Steve and Bucky not relinquishing their holds on me yet, their members slipping from within me as they soften. Pressing his lips to mine, Bucky kisses me, licking into my mouth as if to taste the words I’ve spoken.

The sound of my name from Steve’s lips—not princess or sweetheart, not Sugar, my _real_ name—whispers through the air, “We love you so much.”

Bucky withdraws from our kiss with one last peck to my lips, watching my reaction. Waiting to see what I will do.

My eyes squeeze shut, burying my face in my palms, trying to find space when I’m still crushed between them. My lungs drag in deep breaths while my mind flickers through thoughts at light speed. They let me hide from them, if only for a minute.

Steve retreats from my back, pressing a lingering kiss to my shoulder before carefully standing from my bed and finding his way to my bathroom. Moments later, the sound of the bath faucet spewing out water echoes around the room.

Bucky’s fingers tuck under my chin, raising my head in a signal to look at him. My hands drop from my face, a deep breath filling my lungs and expanding my chest as I brace for whatever he has to say.

“Tell me,” he instructs, voice tender and patient.

But for some reason, right now, it sounds so _patronizing_. Heat rises over my shoulders, creeping toward the top of my head, triggered by his tone. The air has rushed from the room, sucked away in an instant. I’ve been entangled in a giant web of coercion and manipulation, roomed in a basement with a tracking chip in my neck. Quite happily, I might confess. Now, I’m professing my love to the two of them. And that final straw has inexplicably broken my back.

Without any thought, without any explanation, without any sense, the words that leave my lips in response are a withering, “Bite me.”

Bucky’s eyes widen, shock clear in his stormy eyes. My own mirror his, jaw dropping in disbelief that those words escaped my lips. Stern displeasure washes over his features, flattening the corners of his lips into a thin line. His brow sits heavy over his eyes. His cheek ticks as his jaw clenches. He breathes slowly, deeply through his nose.

And I bolt.

I’m not a runner in any sense of the word, but before he can trap me in his arms, I’ve jumped off of Bucky and raced for the basement door. It’s heavy and I struggle briefly, opening it up just enough to squeeze through before my feet climb the stairs in haste. And I don’t stop, finding my way to the stairs leading to the second floor and the third.

By the time my feet set foot in the library, I know I’m toast. I fucked up, but every cell of my blood keeps screaming, _go go go go go_. There’s no point heading down for the doors, they’re still secured with biometric locks. And I have nowhere to hide, they can find me anywhere.

My fingers weave into my hair, pulling on the roots as I pace across the floor, shivering in my nakedness and silently screaming at my idiocy. Why did I _do_ that?

Thumping footsteps thunder downstairs, and I know I have seconds to figure out what the fuck I’m doing. I’m in deep shit, they’re gonna punish me—send me back to the closet of despair. My teeth sink into the flesh of my fist as I bite back my screaming sob.

The air up here is thick, stifling, as I try to calm myself. My lips part wide, trying to drag air into my lungs as they constrict in my chest. My mind keeps trying to parse out my reaction, needing to understand why I’ve so needlessly fucked up.

I needed space from them, because it wasn’t right. Me saying I love them. It’s not _right_. The heel of my palm smacks against my forehead repeatedly, attempting to find some thought that can help. Of course I’ve known I loved them for the past two years. Hell, it’s probably been longer than that—since they first started helping me, that first day, the way they looked at me then.

But _saying_ it. It was never supposed to be spoken.

My name echoes through the house, a seductive drone of the syllables. My eyes squeeze tight as my teeth dig into my lower lips, tears well in my eyes.

I’ve been bad. I’ve upset them. I need to make this right.

My name echoes again, my eyes flit to the door, standing wide open. My feet pad out into the dark corridor of the third story, shuffling toward the top of the stairs.

Steve stands at the bottom, leaning over with his hands on either railing and a foot on the first step. His body bows forward, ready to throw himself up the stairs, like a runner preparing at the starting line.

Standing just hidden by the corner of the wall, I peer down at him and search through unintelligible syllables for something to say.

Before I can, his eyes lock on my figure, hard and furious. My fingers flex against the wall as I cling to the only stability around me. My face scrunches as my tears fall, silently praying for mercy and begging forgiveness. Steve’s dark gaze stays unwavering, brows furrowed and jaw clenching.

“Stevie, teddy bear,” I weep, vision blurred. “I’m so sorry.”

“You’re gonna be, babygirl.”

My head whips around, searching the darkness for the brunet man. In the fleeting light from outside, movement catches my eye. But I can’t distinguish Bucky amongst the shadows.

A scream bursts over my lips as hands juggle me into the air, throwing me over a hard shoulder and spinning around the corner for the stairs. Down, down, down he stomps, rage burning and scorching at my skin until the door to the basement clicks behind us.

My feet land on the floor, the scowling visage of Bucky looming before me. The air buzzes with tension and my legs give way, dropping to kneel on the floor.

“I’m sorry, daddy, I’m so sorry,” I snivel, bowing prostrate in front of him, as if praying to a vengeful deity.

He doesn’t respond.

A door around the room opens, clinks and thumps sounding from the same direction. A shiver wracks down my spine.

Footsteps shuffle beside Bucky and I know it’s Steve, but I keep my eyes on the ground, forehead pressed to my folded hands, blinking away the moisture of my tears.

Silence settles around us. Something hanging in the air, feeling like a guillotine blade ready to slip from it’s perch and slice into me.

One of them takes a knee before me, crouching down and running a hand over my hair. I flinch and await my future, my sentence.

But a gentle touch tips my gaze up. My face nuzzles eagerly toward it, to the kindness being shown to me after I’ve been so bad.

Bucky stares down, face unreadable and blank. My heart breaks in my chest, another sob rising up my throat at the sight. Was it really only a few minutes ago that he looked at me as if I hung the moon and stars? And now this.

His head tilts to the side, lips parting on a sigh. “Why did you do that, Sugar?”

I sniffle and swallow, clearing my throat to speak up, “I don’t know, daddy.” My eyes blink, welling once more. “I-I don’t know what came ov-over me.” My voice cracks, breath hitching over the words, trying to explain something I don’t understand myself.

Bucky’s lips tilt in a sad frown, disappointment radiating from him and sinking into my bones. “Do you not love us? Was that a lie?”

“Of course not!” I cry, eyes widening. My hands flutter up, wanting nothing more than to grasp his hand but knowing I don’t have permission to touch him, that I don’t deserve it.

Bucky pauses, observing my hesitant movements. “Do you really love us?” he asks, gaze penetrating. His expression flares with hope, tainted by the cold steel of his eyes.

“I love you both more than anything,” I reply, immediate, beseeching.

“Prove it.”

Bucky stands, backing up a step, hand outstretched for me to take. I follow him, grasping his hand and scrambling to my feet. Anything to please him again.

He walks to the closet and stops beside the open door. My breath stutters in my chest as my eyes land on the dull concrete walls. Only one long, thin leather cuff hangs from the end of a chain, the faint clink reaching my ears as it sways. And there are pillows along the floor, tossed in the room haphazardly. My favorite stuffed animal sits beside the cushion closest to the chain. I swallow thickly around my heavy tongue, fear prickling at the top of my spine.

 _Prove it_ , Bucky said.

Taking a moment to steel my nerves, I step into the closet, heart thundering like a taiko drum and knees wobbling beneath me. But I can do this for them. After everything they’ve done for me, I can be their good girl and repent.

Steve brushes past the brunet, following me into the closet, helping me to sit on the cushion against the wall and bringing forth the chain as he kneels beside me. He wraps the long leather around my neck—a collar, keeping me chained in place, but with enough slack that I should be able to comfortably maneuver into different positions. His fingers work quickly to buckle it, slipping under to gauge its tightness.

I sit, waiting patiently for him to complete his task, body shivering and teeth starting to chatter—from fear or the cold, I can’t tell.

“Good girl,” he praises once he’s finished, quiet and mildly satisfied.

Steve stands, but doesn’t immediately leave, pushing strands of hair away from my face and leaning down to buss a kiss to my forehead.

My body slumps with that tiny shred of forgiveness, relief washing through me, a gratified hum buzzing my lips.

“I love you,” I profess, certain and strong, eyes darting between the two men.

Steve turns away and walks out the door to join his husband. Bucky sighs while Steve’s shoulder slump, and their lips meet in a chaste kiss. Exchanging a few whispered assurances to each other, they turn back to me, shutting the door behind them and bathing me in darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, if I missed any tags, let me know and I’ll add them! 
> 
> 💜
> 
> Also, if you want to drop by and say ‘hi’ or wanna have a chat, here’s my [Tumblr!](http://foxgloveprincess.tumblr.com/)


	11. Day 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watching some Great British Bake-Off. Whether that’s a good idea is debatable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MIND THE TAG UPDATE!  
> Tags Added: Blow Jobs, Jealousy, Doggy Style
> 
> And we’re back! I said there were gonna be two more chapters after the last one, but I decided I wanted this story to have 13 chapters. I want it to be a baker’s dozen, God damnit! Or at least, that’s what was running through my head when I decided it. 
> 
> Next chapter may take an extra week since I’m working on something else, a sequel to another story that’s almost completed. 
> 
> Enjoy! Let me know what you think!

My nose presses, snug against the skin of Bucky’s throat, nuzzling as close to him as I can. The familiar scents of cedar and something reminiscent of sweet smoke fill my senses, melting my limbs until I ooze like a boneless mass. He sprawls under me on the couch, the sound of the television murmuring in the background. His hands massage and knead the extra flesh around my hips, a rumbling hum reverberating in his chest.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he grouses, scoffing as one of the contestants on the screen fumbles a pastry.

I sigh blearily and peek out of my spot against his neck, glancing at the screen. The bakers on the Great British Bake-Off scramble around their stations as the hosts announce their final minutes in the technical challenge.

As my favorite baker struggles to complete the task, I whine, high-pitched behind my teeth. Shifting above Bucky and pushing his chest to sit myself upright, my brow pinches with worry—despite having watched this season before and knowing that my baker makes it to the finals.

Bucky sits up beneath me, tipping my head back toward him and examining my features. He raises a questioning brow, brushing his nose against my cheek as his lips find my skin. A shiver sparks down my spine as I press my body closer to his.

“I want him to make it, that’s all,” I mumble, a quick gesture to the screen with a careless hand.

Bucky’s brow dips. His gaze darts to the screen where my favorite baker sits with the others, waiting for the judgement from Paul and Prue. Lines crease around his eyes as he glowers, lips pressed in a thin line.

“His bakes are all style and no substance,” Bucky bites, tone as harsh and displeased as his scowl. “He doesn’t even use your favorite flavors.”

“Daddy,” I plead, pressing my lips to his cheek and resting my hands on his shoulders, “don’t be like that.” Fingers gripping at the collar of his shirt, my hips shift over his, feeling him growing hard beneath me. I coax his gaze back to me, failing to bite back a grin when we lock eyes. “I’m yours.”

My lips drag across his cheek, cooing as I kiss his thumping pulse point. My tongue licks across the skin of his neck, my lips press kisses. I descend lower, legs maneuvering from their position astride his lap until they kneel between his parted thighs.

My lips follow along the journey—pressing love to his collarbones, his covered chest. My hands sneak under the hem of his shirt until I can push it up, keeping it in place over his pecs and exposing his chest to my exploration.

Bucky reclines on the couch, sinking into the cushions, eyelashes fluttering as my tongue flicks a nipple.

“Babygirl,” he groans, hands grasping at my waist, but I keep working lower, tracing each muscle with my tongue and grinning into his skin. “Sugar, what are you doing?” His hands catch my cheeks, cradling my jaw in his palms.

“You’re mine, daddy,” I huff as a pout purses my lips. Shaking my head out of his grip, I return to the heated skin of his abdomen, fingers plucking at the waistband of his sweats and pulling them over his hips to expose his Adonis belt.

My mouth waters at the defined ridge, but I don’t stop there—oh, no. My tongue traces a wet path over the dip of his hips and down toward the apex of his thighs where his swelling cock remains trapped beneath fabric.

Flicking my tongue beneath the waistband, I swipe over the root of his cock. It twitches in response and a resounding groan pushes past Bucky’s lips.

“So good to me,” he rasps.

He tilts his hips up, allowing me to tug his sweats and briefs down his thighs until his cock pops up, flushed and leaking. It curves toward his abdomen, trembling as my breath brushes over it.

A whine twitters in my throat while I admire the beauty of Bucky’s girth. Delicately clutching it in my hands, I lean forward, pressing my lips along the underside of his length, swiping my tongue up to the crown, and kissing the tip. Licking my lips of his salty precum, my eyes flick toward his face.

His brows arch upward and my thighs clench together, staving off the arousal warming between them. I have other things to focus on—this rare opportunity. Allowing myself the opportunity to fully indulge, I lick my hand, cupping his base and keeping him steady as I let myself explore even more. I press kisses to his tip, nuzzle close with my cheek, and lick wherever I please. It’s absolute bliss.

Bucky’s hands clench on the couch, the fabric straining beneath his grip. His breath puffs out of his chest, a sound of pleasure accompanying it when I find the most sensitive spots.

My lips travel up his length until I get to his tip, swirling my tongue around his head and parting my lips to suck him into my drooling mouth. The weight of him rests heavy on my tongue as I suckle at him. His hips buck up at the sensation, a huff of air punched out of his lungs.

“Get up here,” he demands, gripping at my forearms to heave me up toward him.

I lean back, releasing his throbbing cock from my mouth with a pop. “But, daddy, I wanna play,” I whimper, puckering my lips in a lewd buss around his shaft.

He grunts, the muscles of his thighs clenching as I stroke him in my hand, placing sloppy kisses over his silky skin. When he doesn’t say anything more, I encase him in my mouth and purr when his essence drips on my tongue.

My head bobs along his length, hollowing my cheeks as I suck. Sounds of slurping and hums of pleasure permeate the room accompanied by Bucky’s grunts and moans, the television entirely forgotten.

“Holy fuck,” a voice exclaims from behind me, coming from the doorway into the second floor family room.

My head lifts, breathing heavy as I turn my gaze to smile over at Steve. His hands clamp on the doorframe, the wood almost groaning under his grip. My hand lazily continues stroking Bucky while my attention focuses on his husband.

“Come here, teddy,” I beckon, with a pout. “I wanna play with you.”

A strong hand grips at my hair, turning my head back toward the brunet, a fiery glare on his face. “I thought you wanted to play with me?” His brow cocks.

My head nods and I lean forward to capture his lips with mine. Steve approaches, just in my periphery as my tongue tangles with Bucky’s.

“I always wanna play with my daddy and teddy bear,” I murmur against his lips. “You both keep me so safe and give me everything I need.” A hand skirts down my spine and my back arches into the touch.

“Tell us what you want, princess,” Steve requests with a gentle kiss to my shoulder over the fabric of my shirt.

“Whatever you want,” I reply immediately, releasing my grip and backing away, giving them time to choose along with my full attention.

The men exchange a glance, communicating in their silent way while I wait patiently. Their brows raise and their lips quirk, but Bucky’s scowl grows darker the longer nothing happens while Steve’s face becomes more and more expectant.

Eventually, they come to some agreeable conclusion, pleased expressions gracing both their faces.

Bucky’s hand taps my thigh, drawing my attention back to him. His other hand reaches for my cheek, cradling my face with a desperate tilt to his brow. His chin jerks toward his lap, and I nod, happy to follow his direction.

My cheeks hurt from my wide, giddy smile as I resume my previous activity, sucking his cock into my mouth and humming with delight.

Two strong hands land on my hips, tilting them up and attempting to spread my legs just a bit more between Bucky’s. Steve’s figure crowds over me, wrapping me in his arms and tucking his head over my shoulder.

His lips brush against my cheek while his fingers reach for the apex of my thighs, finding my center and rubbing it through my denim bottoms. Bucky’s girth chokes the gasp that results, but it doesn’t deter the blond. He slips my shorts and undies down my thighs and off my legs, all while keeping our bodies flush.

“You ready for some cuddle time with Stevie?” Bucky asks, ending with a groan as he shifts his hips to thrust deeper into my mouth.

My head nods, continuing to bob on Bucky’s length, stroking what won’t fit and lapping up every drop of precum that drips from him. Pulling off, my tongue traces a path along one of his bulging veins, down to the base and back up.

“Yes, daddy, please,” I mewl, hand still stroking him, the movement a smooth glide with all the accumulated wetness from my mouth and his excitement.

Steve’s hot length easily parts my folds, notching at my entrance and plunging into my core. I whimper, shifting on my knees as my walls clamp around his girth. Bucky’s cock pops out of my mouth on a moan, my forehead pressing into his hip.

But neither relent. Bucky guiding my head back to swallow him down and Steve’s hips vigorously rutting into me.

The musky scents of sex and sweat pervade my sense of smell, swirling in the air, enrobing us in heady lust. 

High-pitched whimpers trill in my throat, echoed by the sounds of pleasure coming from the men ravishing me. The clap of flesh on flesh, the squelch of arousal. All blending together in a sinful symphony of desire.

Bucky’s hips buck into the warm cavern of my mouth. Though for my comfort, to keep me from gagging, he tenses, the muscles of his thighs and abs flexing while he resists his primal urge to thrust. A guttural groan reverberates in his chest, breath hitching over the sound. His head tilts back, and he cums on my tongue, warmth spurting across my tastebuds.

I swallow down what I can, a hand raising to cup under my chin to catch the dribbling spend. My eyes lift expectantly to meet Bucky’s, a glassy smile spreading across his lips. My expression mirrors his as I wipe my face, my arms moving to embrace him, slipping under his lower back.

Steve’s hips persist in their punishing, voracious pace, aiming for his own release and mine. My torso drops, resting myself on the brunet beneath me. His hand pets over my hair, lips breathing velvety little words of comfort and praise.

I clench at the admiration, tummy swooping with boiling arousal and lips pressing a kiss to Bucky’s softened cock.

Steve’s hips stutter behind me, a grunt punched out of his chest as my walls squeeze him. A hand traces down my sides, finding its way to play with my clit. My lips part, a gasping breath brushing over Bucky’s skin.

“I’m so happy it only took four days to get our good girl back,” Steve comments over my shoulder, voice gravelly. His lips brush over my neck as he pins me down. “Took so much longer last time for our perfect li’l sweetheart.” His words break off on a choked groan.

My head perks up, raising away from Bucky’s skin and turning, searching out the blond’s gaze. “I’m really your good girl?” My eyes shine up at him, hope welling in my chest. It’s all I want, their praise, their love.

“Exactly how we’ve always wanted you, baby,” Bucky assures, hands cupping my face and drawing me toward him for a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I missed any tags, let me know and I’ll add them! 
> 
> 💜
> 
> Also, if you want to drop by and say ‘hi’ or wanna have a chat, here’s my [Tumblr!](http://foxgloveprincess.tumblr.com/)


	12. Day 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bath and bed time before a special day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MIND THE TAG UPDATE!  
> Tags Added: Drug Use (a sedative, probably should have had this tagged already, but hindsight)
> 
> Almost to the end. This chapter is really just setting up chapter 13 (which I’ve already started drafting and have a vague plan for). But I enjoyed writing it anyway. I was in some kind of mood when I was writing this after watching the trailer for The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, so that might peek through in certain parts. I don’t know.
> 
> Enjoy!

The water ripples calmly, moving around the tub. My back leans against a firm chest, comforting muscled arms wrapping around my middle. Fingers entwine with the large hands resting over my stomach. Long legs bracket my body, cocooning me in an embrace.

A sigh fans over my cheek, contented, a kiss pressed to my temple. My face turns, finding Steve’s jaw and returning the gesture, lips pressing to his lightly stubbled jaw.

“So scratchy, teddy,” I hum into his skin, tasting a bead of water dripping down the side of his face.

“I wanted to try something new,” he replies, voice low and soft. “I think you’ll like it when teddy’s nice and cozy between your thighs.”

His hand pets over my soft belly, lowering beneath the water, fingers finding the heart sitting above my slit. His fingers dance slightly lower still, a light teasing hint of contact. My hips tilt up, searching for a heavier touch, that hint of friction. My teeth sink into my bottom lip, eyes fluttering shut, expectation and anticipation washing over me.

“Babygirl, we need to talk about something,” Bucky begins, caressing his hand over my cheek and tipping my gaze to find him. He sits by the tub, arms folded on the edge, eyes alight with joy.

Steve’s hand slowly retreats from the apex of my thighs, rubbing back over my stomach and finding my hand once again to link our fingers. He hugs me from behind, his chin resting on my shoulder.

A yawn cracks my jaw, hazy tranquility settling over me, but I nod, eager to hear what Bucky has to say.

“You’ve been such a good girl for us since your time out,” Bucky praises. Steve hums in agreement against my ear, chest vibrating against my back. “So Stevie and I are gonna take you somewhere special tomorrow.”

My eyes blink open, surprise raising my brow. Bucky rubs his thumb over my lower lip, pulling on the flesh and smiling at me.

“We’re so proud of you,” Bucky croons. My heart gives a little flutter, tummy swooping from the praise. Melting into a pile of mushy goo, my body sinks deeper into the water, resting my head on Steve’s chest. “We thought we could all spend some time at The Line. Melinda needs approval for some new recipes, and Steve can check on Phil and the baristas. Does that sound like fun?”

“Yes, daddy,” I murmur, barely above a whisper.

My eyes glaze over, blurring until everything in sight becomes indistinguishable shapes, colors bleeding together. My mind flashes to my table, reminiscing on my days writing for Peggy and enjoying my independence while admiring the owners of the small café.

The bright, natural light shining through the large front windows. The vintage décor picked so precisely to create the right ambience. The smell of coffee and sweet pastry wafting through the air.

Sam’s face surfaces in my memory, his gap-toothed smile and easy charm. The way he was so willing to help me out when I got stuck, to bolster my confidence and share a kind word. The way he made me laugh until I couldn’t breathe. How I never spent enough time actually getting to know him, but how that never mattered when it came right down to it.

A wave of tenderness washes over me, sappy and sweet tinged with a hint of regret.

My eyes refocus on the moment, though the mental fog still lingers like temptation. Gaze flitting back toward Bucky, concern draws his features. I fidget, turning onto my hip, resting on my shoulder against Steve. The blond shifts his position as well, a quiet huff of discomfort as he wraps me up in a more agreeable embrace.

“And I can see Wanda and Pietro?” I ask, voice quiet and conspiratorial despite the guileless conversation. Knowing my previous train of thought would not be appreciated by the men, if I were to voice it.

“Of course,” Bucky replies easily, “we’re so pleased you want to be friends with them.” A tender smile spreads his lips, genuinely pleased.

He shifts on his knees, finding a comfortable position outside of the tub while still being within reach. My hand grasps his fingers, dangling into the bath water over the side.

“You’ll probably be introduced to a lot of new friends tomorrow,” he continues. His eyes glance to Steve, a flash of wariness crossing his features. “Our friend Tony is having a special dinner.”

“And I get to go?” I ask, eyes drifting closed, letting myself get lost in the soothing intimacy of the moment.

Bucky hums in confirmation, thumb tracing the webspace of my hand by my thumb. His lips find the back of my palm, a gentle buss against the wet skin.

“Oh, no, our princess is falling asleep in her bath,” Steve teases, wet fingers reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

Bucky hums again, hand slipping from mine and pulling the plug on the drain. A whine rolls high in my throat, petulant and pouty. Steve’s chest shakes behind me with he a deep chuckle. My head turns, pressing a chaste kiss to his pec. He responds with a caress of his hand over my hair.

Dry and wet hands work together, helping me readjust my body to first sit up and then stand. Bucky’s sweet smile coaxes me to step out of the tub and into the warm towel he uses to dry me off.

Another yawn breaks through my closed lips, sapping my energy and leaving me feeling absolutely exhausted. Bucky’s fingers pinch my inner thigh as he begins slathering lotion over my lower limbs.

Though I jump, startled by the sharp sensation, I continue to sink deeper and deeper toward sleep. Unable to pull myself back toward alertness.

Steve stands in the empty tub, wrapping a towel around his waist. The two men share a glance over my shoulder, nodding quickly in agreement. The brunet spins my body to cover my back in the sweet-smelling lotion. Facing Steve, the blond cradles my face in his hands, one of his thumbs rubbing over the apple of my cheek.

“Gotta wake you up just a bit,” he murmurs toward me, pressing a kiss to my left cheek. “Ready, sweetheart?”

My head bobs in an unhurried nod, trying to blink away the cobwebs in my mind. Tongue thick in my mouth and brain working too slow to form words and voice an answer.

“Just three, alright?”

I nod again, attention centered on Steve.

Bucky’s hands rub over my shoulders, his body supporting mine, pressing his chest to my back. “Good girl,” he mutters in my ear.

My knees quiver.

Steve’s hand withdraws from my left cheek, landing quickly after for a sharp smack. He pauses, eyes intent on my face. Then smack, smack.

Blood rushes to my face, a burst of lucidity sparking in my head. Steve presses his lips against my cheek again, fingers running over the skin and checking it. He tilts my head, a tender smile sitting on his lips. My hands snake around his waist, pulling our bodies closer, aching for a hug.

Bucky hauls me back with one arm, playfully groaning, “We just got you dry, baby. Gotta get you dressed first, then you can snuggle with your teddy bear, if he behaves.”

A lopsided grin sits on his lips. The brunet drags me from the master bathroom through their bedroom and into my new upstairs room, gently tossing our bodies on the bed and nipping quickly at my collarbone. A giggle bursts from my chest, body squirming. My teeth attempt to bite back the noise, but Bucky’s sunny smile shines as he looks down on me and I can’t help myself.

With a lingering kiss and a final nip to my lips, he stands, tracing his hand over my side and turning to my wardrobe. I snuggle into the warm, fuzzy blankets, content to watch him.

Steve pokes his head through the door a moment later, eyes alight. “No sleeping, sweetheart,” he reminds me with a soft smile.

I sit up, nodding and shifting until I rest on my knees. The blanket drops from my shoulders, leaving my body prickling with goosebumps from the cold. Steve’s gaze darkens as it drops to my breasts, my nipples peaking.

Bucky returns to my side, holding a pair of soft cotton underwear. He offers his hand to help me stand and I accept, eyes still trained on the blond.

Or rather, the sweatpants that cling for purchase on the line of Steve’s hips. He saunters across the room, sitting in the stuffed rocking chair in the corner. His eyes sparkle, watching every movement, expression shining with a quiet, adoring heat.

And my mouth is watering. I fidget, debating on saying something, my eyes following the smooth muscles across Steve’s body.

“Let’s get you ready for bed, baby love,” Bucky hums, turning my focus back to his face with a gentle tap on my chin.

His eyes, shadowed and focused, linger on Steve’s form in the chair for a moment longer before he bends with my undies held for me to step into.

The cotton slips up my legs, covering my modesty with pink hearts. My tongue swipes over my lips, teeth worrying over the flesh. Synapses igniting with need.

Bucky’s hand slips under my pillow, drawing out one of my sleep rompers, a simple black one without frills. He fingers the fabric, smiling to himself.

“This should keep you cozy and warm during your cuddles,” Bucky murmurs, pulling it up my thighs and over my hips. He closes the top buttons, hands smoothing the fabric over my body, staying deliberately away from the places where I most want his touch.

My fingers tug at the legs holes, pulling them down my legs and straightening the hem to prevent it from bunching up around my thighs. Mild frustration rings in the back of my mind, feeling the patch of wetness forming in my panties.

Bucky ignores the reflexive pout forming on my lips and pulls me in for a warm hug. His hands sneak to my ass, squeezing the flesh in his palms. His lips brush across my temple, a peaceful sigh blowing over his lips.

My arms wrap around his neck, leaning into the embrace. My head settles in the crook of his neck, breathing deeply to calm myself. Bucky bends his knees slightly, angling and dropping his head to place a kiss over my heart.

Heat floods my cheeks, a pleasant buzz vibrating my head as I titter and wriggle in Bucky’s grip.

“Daddy,” I coo, threading my fingers through his hair and gently scratching his scalp.

Arms wrap around my front when Bucky straightens, the scent of Steve’s clean skin washing over my senses.

“How are you liking your new room, princess?” he asks by my ear, words dripping with sweet expectancy.

My eyes drift around the new room, formulating my response through thoughts of debauchery.

They had taken their extra time during my timeout to move my things from the basement up to this room, insistent that my behavior meant they needed closer access to me. I didn’t try to understand their logic, but even I could see it as they introduced me to my new room. Something had shifted.

My favorite color still covers the walls, decorated with my sparkle lights. And the rest of the room is no different, as if they condensed the basement bedroom into the smaller space. The same bed and delicate lace canopy, the same fluffy rug, the same wardrobe and vanity all arranged to fit.

And they’re just a few steps away, in the room joined to mine.

A small smile splits my lips, happiness bubbling up my throat. “It’s what I’ve always wanted, teddy.”

My eyes search for Bucky, his gaze locked with his husband. So I look between them both, gauging their reaction.

Pride gleams in their eyes, brighter than the sun. In an instant, they crush me between them, warmth and love radiating around us like a supernova. I purr in the embrace.

“Where do you wanna sleep tonight, baby?” Bucky asks, hands massaging along my spine.

“With daddy and teddy,” I reply quickly, easily, bouncing on my toes with enthusiasm.

“That’s what you wanted last night, sweetheart,” Steve chuckles, arms holding me tighter. His huff of laughter blows the few dry strands of my hair, which in turn tickle my cheek.

“It’s what I want every night,” I rebut, scrunching my brow and turning over my shoulder to look at him. “Is that so bad?”

“Not at all,” Bucky interjects, taking a step back and cradling my jaw in his hands.

His lips pepper kisses over my face until I passively grab at his wrists and tilt my head—exposing more skin to his attack and basking in his affections.

Steve’s hands drift over my stomach, hands reaching to cup my breasts and squeeze the pillowy flesh. My back arches into the touch, but Bucky slaps his husband’s hands away.

“It’s a big day for our Sugar tomorrow. She needs her beauty sleep,” Bucky chides gently. He interlaces his fingers with mine, guiding me back through my door and into their room.

The giant bed, covered in blankets and pillows, sits in the middle of the room, commanding attention. On one side, sits the bedside table where Steve keeps a novel and a notebook, along with a clock, some lotion, and a box of tissues. On the side closest to the door sits Bucky’s things—a cookbook, a sound machine, a glass of water, and a prescription bottle of pills.

I crawl up the middle of the bed, grabbing my stuffed animal that sits up on the pillows hugging it close to my chest. Steve’s side sinks next to me and I turn to him, slightly puckering my lips for a kiss, which he enthusiastically grants, licking into my mouth until I’m moaning and clenching my thighs together.

And then I’m suddenly pulled away with a firm tug on my ankle. A displeased frown sits on Bucky’s lips and my heart sinks. I scramble to kneel before him on the bed, dropping my plush toy and wrapping my arms around his shoulders.

“Sorry, Buck,” Steve apologizes, hand running over his neck as he avoids his husband’s glare. “I got carried away.”

Dismay begins to pool in my stomach until it starts choking me, strangling my breaths. Ice washes through me, tears welling in my eyes from personal disappointment. My face buries into the brunet’s neck, attempting to hide from the his ire.

“I’m not upset with you, baby,” Bucky assures with one hand delicately holding my head and the other rubbing soothing circles into my lower back. I melt into his embrace, the relief sudden and profound. “Let me see your beautiful face,” he coaxes, whispering sweetness into my ear until I lift my head.

His hand wipes away my tears quickly, head cocked at an angle in his examination of me. He smiles, eyes crinkling with a tender regard.

“You ready for bed?” he asks. His nose brushes against mine like a kiss and I giggle.

My head turns to catch a glimpse of Steve in my periphery, the man watching with his notebook open on his thighs, a pencil poised in his hand. My head bobs up and down once, turning back to Bucky. My mouth opens wide, tongue sticking out, waiting. The brunet’s fingers brush over my gaping lips before he turns and shakes a small pill out of his prescription bottle. He places it carefully on my tongue and I draw it into my mouth.

He grabs his water glass and tips it to my lips until I swallow. My mouth opens again, and his finger poke and prod around my tongue and cheeks, ensuring that I’ve swallowed the sedative. His lips land on my forehead before he nudges me back.

I sink into the soft comfort of the bed, pulling my stuffed animal into my arms and snuggling up against Steve’s thigh. My cheek brushes against the worn fabric of his sweatpants, a smile quirking one corner of my lips.

A throat clears. Turning my head to Bucky, I watch as he strips down to his briefs, a hungry look in his eyes. I shift on the bed, subtly stretching to alleviate an inner tightness that blooms within me.

“Hands to yourself,” Bucky commands pointedly to Steve.

I gulp at his tone, desire pooling between my thighs. Bucky smiles, getting into the bed and curling his body around mine.

“Sweet dreams, baby love,” he purrs, tucking me under the sheets and blankets. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, daddy,” I reply, breath hitching—from desire or residual trepidation, it’s of no consequence.

My arms clutch at my stuffed animal, letting my eyes fall shut and waiting for that inky blackness to drag me under.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I missed any tags, let me know and I’ll add them! 
> 
> 💜
> 
> Also, if you want to drop by and say ‘hi’ or wanna have a chat, here’s my [Tumblr!](http://foxgloveprincess.tumblr.com/)


	13. Day 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Steve take Sugar to The Line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No New Tags Added.
> 
> So here we’ve come to our final chapter. I know some of you might still have some questions, but this is where I’m leaving this story. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me and left comments/kudos. 💜 Writing this series has been so much fun and seeing other people appreciate my hard work means so much. I love you guys!

The delicate silver chain wraps around my neck, cool against my skin. The words ‘Daddy’s Girl’ sit delicately against the hollow of my throat, a teddy bear charm separating the cursive script.

“Repeat your rules for today to me, babygirl,” Bucky commands, fingers working to latch the necklace and twist it to its appropriate position.

My feet shift on the rug near the entryway, my hands kneading together in front of my tummy as I recite, “Stay close, hold your hand while we’re walking on the street, no talking to strangers, be a good girl, make good choices.”

“That’s our girl,” Steve praises, walking up and pressing a quick peck to my cheek.

He holds my shoes in his hands, a new pair of mary janes that were definitely not in my closet before. He crouches on the ground helping me put them on, guiding one of my hands to rest on him for stability.

His curious, yearning fingers brush up my thigh before being decisively batted away. Bucky shoots a look down at his husband, a click of his tongue showing his disapproval. Steve lowers his gaze and retracts his hand quickly, a deep breath expanding his chest. My fingers run through his hair, pushing the golden strands back and away from his face. He leans into my touch, humming deep.

After a calm, extended minute, Steve rises and wraps his arms around Bucky, clutching at his waist. They share a fervent kiss, tongues dancing on the verge of becoming needy before they break for air. Their foreheads press close, taking a moment for themselves and exchanging a sigh between their lips, expressions communicating with each other what words will not.

Watching their moment together tugs at the strings of my heart, longing for that bond between us, to be drawn into their orbit. There is a nostalgia to it, this feeling clutching my chest—something I often felt when watching them interact at the café. The difference lies in the present, when I can interpret their looks like a fluent second language. A silent plea and admonishment leading to acceptance and tender admiration, excitement and anticipation budding deeper still.

When the two men separate, the spell breaks and they work swiftly, wrapping themselves and me in warm coats and scarves. A backpack stuffed with a few books is set on my back, my fingers working my scarf and collar out from under the straps.

The front door beeps and swings open to the outside world. Both men stride out and wait on the stoop. I hesitate. My feet shift nervously, anxious sweat gathering under my arms.

Noticing my reluctance, Bucky’s face falls into one of compassionate understanding. He holds his hand out, offering an anchor for me. Steve bobs his head in a gesture of encouragement, tucked close into his husband’s side with a patient smile on his lips. Inhaling deeply, I step over the threshold and into the wide world.

The anticlimax of the moment stuns me for a second before Bucky’s gentle grip wraps around my hand, drawing me completely away from the safety of the brownstone and into the safety of their care.

We navigate the streets in the soft morning light, walking past strangers going about their days with cups full of steaming coffee and phones pressed tight to their ears. Despite the chill in the air, the sunlight warms us just enough when the wind nips at our cheeks.

Fresh, crisp air fills my lungs and an inexplicable weight lifts from my shoulders. My steps tread lightly on the sidewalk and my arm swings with Bucky’s hand clutched tight, our fingers interlaced. He shakes his head at my antics, but both men have difficulty concealing the smiles that splash across their faces.

We approach The Line down the street, the café still closed, preparing for the morning rush at 7:30 AM. It looks the same, wide windows and exposed brick, that quaint, homey aesthetic. Anticipation builds in my belly seeing the friendly façade.

Bucky pushes the door open and ushers us inside, a few of the baristas behind the counter prepping the machines and a few on the floor, wiping down tables and setting out chairs.

A full-blown smile breaks across my face, eyes shimmering with wonder. Moisture wells on my waterline at seeing the familiar place after what feels like so long. Warmth floods through me, so much deeper than the air spewing out of the heater.

Bucky guides me toward the kitchen door while Steve steps away, greeting the workers and helping set up behind the counter. The baristas greet him with cheery dispositions and comment on how long he’s been away. Steve jokes back with playful gibes and a happy smile.

Cold-tinged hands frame my face, centering my attention back on Bucky. I blink at the soft blue eyes that tenderly gaze back at me, waiting for him to say something. He slowly leans forward, brushing his lips against mine.

“Don’t want to be away from you, baby, but daddy’s gotta work, okay?” he asks, thumb caressing my cheek. I nod, tilting my head, angling for another kiss. He pecks my lips again. “Stevie’s gonna keep a close eye on you, guard you real good. You know how he gets with his favorite things.” A smirk dances across his lips. My feet shift beneath me, teeth biting into my cheek at the shock of desire that zips toward my core. “Pick a good seat,” he instructs.

My hand wraps around his wrist, denying him the chance to leave. “One more kiss?” I request. “Please, daddy?”

A chuckle rumbles in his chest, a fond smile sitting on his lips. He sighs and nods his head, expression mildly dazed and sappy.

“God, I love you, babygirl.”

He captures me in one final kiss, melding our lips together until my knees shake and I pull away breathless. Immediately, my teeth draw my lower lip into my mouth, sucking on the faint lingering taste of him. His nose brushes against my cheek, inhaling deeply, and he nudges me toward the tables.

My eyes follow him as he retreats to the kitchen, his eyes staring right back at me, unwilling to break that last thread of contact between us. Once he disappears behind the swinging door, I turn slowly to the near empty café.

My eyes fall to _my_ table. The one pushed against the wall, tucked past that first row of tables and sitting open for me. I hesitate to approach it—it’s too far away from the counter, not a good choice.

Fingers tugging on my straps, fidgeting in my spot, I glance around. An oppressive weight rests on my shoulders, feeling the gaze of every worker in the café landing on me, though not one person pays me any attention. My mouth dries and tears prick my eyes. I back away from the tables, heartbeat beginning to pound in my ears. My breath hitches in my chest.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Steve’s voice soothes me, his arms wrapping around my body from behind, holding my arms against my chest. His thumb rubs comforting circles on my wrist. “I got you, sweetheart.”

Relief floods through me on my next inhale, melting against the blond man and closing my eyes until my heart calms.

“Is she okay?” a voice asks from behind us. My head perks up, startled by the sound of their curiosity.

Steve glances over his shoulder before he turns me to face him, hands resting firmly on my waist. He examines me for a few brief seconds before asking softly, “Are you alright now?”

My head bobs. A small, sheepish smile spreads across my lips, embarrassment heating my cheeks. My eyes send a quick glance around Steve to see a flash of white blond hair behind him.

“Thank you for your concern,” I mutter, flashing my small smile to Pietro.

“Let’s find you a seat,” Steve murmurs, head turning as he scans the empty café.

Leo walks up to the front door, flipping on the open light and heading back behind the counter. A few people begin to trickle in, eager for pastries and hot drinks. My hands grip onto Steve’s shirt, keen to find a place to sit before all my options disappear.

“She can always sit there,” Pietro suggests quietly, hand pointed to the two barstool chairs sitting at the counter, nearly hidden by the display case for the baked goods.

Steve hums, a pleased sound. He guides me over to the stools, clapping Pietro on the shoulder as we pass. I quickly hop into the seat closer to the wall, smoothing down my skirt and finding comfortable way to sit. Steve helps me take off my backpack and sets it on the other chair. A warm hand runs over my hair, smoothing down the french braids Bucky spent the morning perfecting in my hair.

“Thank you, teddy,” I whisper, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t apologize, princess. You’re doing so well.” His lips press to my temple, hand resting in the back of my neck. “Teddy’s gonna work now, will you be alright?” His thumb strokes across my nape, waiting for my answer.

I nod, lips pressed together and fingers wringing in my lap. Despite my trepidation, I know logically I’ll be fine. Steve will be right behind the counter, a few steps away from me. But a quiet feeling of vulnerability washes over me regardless. I shake off the sensation. I can be a good girl and make Steve and Bucky proud. I can handle this.

My fingers fumble with the zipper on my backpack for a second as Steve walks away, finding his place behind the counter, jumping in to make drink orders and grab baked goods for customers. Brow drawn with steely determination, I pull out one of my coloring books and my box of twistable colored pencils.

“You’re so adorable,” Pietro coos, sidling up to the bar-top in front of me. He leans on the pressed copper, over the little jars and mugs that sit on the counter beneath.

I fidget in my seat, flipping through the pages to find the picture I’ve been working on.

“Thank you,” I murmur in response, to be polite.

Silence sits between us for a moment, my own mouth unwilling to make conversation and Pietro observing me as I select a color to begin filling blank space on my page.

“Are you excited about tonight?” he asks, voice dropping conspiratorially.

I swallow, clearing my throat. “I-I don’t know.” My eyes flit around the café, watching people stepping up to the cashier to order, the tables filling slowly. Steve stands off to the side at the espresso machine, just close enough to be able to hear our conversation.

“Wanda can’t stop talking about it, she wants to be your best friend,” Pietro explains. My head tilts, mind trying to picture the shy and sweet girl in the kitchen being as excited as her brother claims. “Darcy, Nebula, and Peter will be there, too. It’s your first time, but all of us are looking forward to hanging out with you.” He smiles, bouncing on his toes as he ducks down, trying to catch my eye.

A titter of soft laughter burst past my lips. I smile at the young man, charmed by his eager attention and goofy grin. His smile shines back at me, eyes sparkling. Closing my coloring book around my finger, I lean forward, allowing myself to become engaged in the conversation.

“Don’t be nervous tonight either, when you meet everyone else,” he adds, leaning closer. “They may seem very serious, but all of us know they’re just big piles of mush.” Pietro winks, a smug smirk on his face.

“Who is everyone?” I ask, curiosity piqued.

“You know, our caregivers and the rest of their friends. Steve, Bucky, Tony, Natasha, Clint, Bruce, Thor, Loki, Rhodey, Stephen.” Pietro names, counting them out on his fingers. His eyes raise toward the ceiling in a bid to recall anyone else. “Sometimes others pop in, but that’s the usual group for these sort of gatherings. If we’re lucky, T’Challa will be in town. He always brings gifts.” He pauses, teeth worrying over his lower lip. “God, I hope Wade isn’t there—he always tries to get us in trouble.”

I blink, stunned. “What happens at this thing?” I ask, delighted by the answers I’m receiving without hesitation or resistance.

“Just hang out,” Pietro replies with a nonchalant gesture of his hand, “We have dinner. Usually something Tony orders in. The caregivers chat about their business. Let us play together while they keep watch. It keeps the bonds strong.” His shoulders shrug. “We get to do whatever we want. Usually ends up with us watching movies in a big cuddle pile.”

My head cocks to the side, mulling it over in my brain. That doesn’t seem nefarious, just a dinner with friends.

“You just have to make sure that no one touches you in a way that would upset your caregivers,” Pietro’s voice drops, his eyes skirting to the side, finding Steve in his periphery. The man’s brows furrow, obviously listening in while he mixes someone’s latte. Pietro continues, “It’s-it’s come to blows before.” His hand rubs at the back of his neck. “But only once. You just gotta be careful and be good, you know?”

I nod, swallowing thickly around the lump forming in my throat, dread beginning to churn in my belly. My eyes drop to the counter, lost in thought. Pietro clears his throat, lips parting to change the subject, but he doesn’t get the chance.

“Excuse me,” a voice interrupts from behind me.

Pietro’s face darkens, his back straightening and his fists clenching. Tingles shoot up my spine, shoulders tensing—recognizing that voice. My eyes squeeze shut for a second, praying to any listening deity that it’s not who I think it is. Turning to peek over my shoulder, my stomach drops to my toes.

Seems like no one’s listening to my prayers.

Sharon stands behind me, as confident and imposing as the last time I had seen her. But wrinkles crease her outfit and her hair lays flat around her face. Her brows furrow over hard eyes, barely concealing contempt and a tinge of nerves that accompany this situation.

My eyes widen before I whip my attention around to Steve. A glare draws his features. His hand lands on Pietro’s shoulders, excusing the younger man back to his work. I keep my focus on Steve, cursing the fact that he’s not right beside me.

He seems to have the same thought, his eyes darting down to the counter. The wheels spin in his head, as if he’s contemplating how he’s going to jump over the barrier.

“C-can-can I talk to you, please?” Sharon clears her throat and continues, voice hushed in the now bustling café. “I knew Steve and Bucky were going to be here today and I want to apologize.”

Attention turning back over my shoulder, my molars grind together, tension freezing my muscles. Static crackles in my head drowning out the thundering of my pulse in my ears.

“Uh, no, thank you,” I squeak, shaking my head.

My heart clenches uncomfortably in my chest and my palms sweat. All I want is for her to leave me alone—to leave, period. I don’t care about her apology, I don’t care that her life is in disarray. I don’t want to see the disdain burning behind her eyes when she looks at me.

“You heard her,” Steve growls. “Now get the fuck out.”

Sharon chokes on a sound in her throat, but turns and retreats, quickly exiting the café and scurrying down the street looking dejected. Steve’s eyes follow her, watching like a hawk until she vanishes from sight around the side of the building.

Once she’s completely gone, he breathes a sigh of relief, backing away and hurrying out from behind the counter and over to me. He wraps me in his arms, crowding me on my stool until my back hits the wall, comforting and soothing me as the tension leaks from my body.

His hands cradle my face, thumbs caressing over my skin, tilting my head up. His lips descend, brushing over mine—an assurance and an apology all at once. I grab onto his arms, grounding myself with his cologne filling my nose and the warmth of his body pressing close to mine.

He stares into my eyes when he draws away, pressing our foreheads together as he insists, “You’re safe.”

Steve scrutinizes me for a long moment after his declaration. With some rustling and finagling, he reaches behind his back and pulls the other chair under him. He scoots close and wraps his arm over the back of my chair. Our legs press together under the counter and Steve twirls a strand of my hair around his finger. He keeps me safely ensconced in his embrace until all my senses fill with him.

I reopen my coloring book, casting quick, questioning glances to the side, wondering if he will move to resume his work.

But he looks perfectly content to watch me, like somehow he’s not bored by it, like he has no other responsibilities. His eyes stay unwavering, reaching out and handing me my colored pencils when I ask, twisting them up for me and making suggestions for which colors to put where.

Leo and Pietro both glance our way occasionally—Leo with mild curiosity and Pietro with concern—but one frown from Steve sets them back to their work with the others.

And the two of us sit, basking in our quiet little corner of the café. Steve, of course, interacts with his staff, greeting Daisy when she arrives for her shift and making comments occasionally when asked a question. But he stays glued to my side, warming me up from my toes all the way to my heart.

The morning stretches closer to lunch, traffic picking up through the café, the tables filling with people eating late breakfasts and early lunches. Steve stands from his seat, promising a swift return and some food. I nod, eyes following him until he pushes the door back to the kitchen.

The sounds of the café surround me, the hissing steam and quiet chatter. I continue coloring, humming along to a song in my head—something by Sinatra—one that Steve and Bucky love slow dancing to.

“Oh my god!”

The exclamation catches me off-guard, as do the hands that land on my shoulders and spin me around, extracting me from my chair through sheer force. The hum of voices around us hush when I look into Sam’s wide brown eyes—or maybe that’s just in my own mind.

His arms wrap around my body, not giving me a choice as he pulls me into a hug. His hands grasp tight, squeezing like he’s afraid I’ll somehow disappear into thin air.

“I thought something horrible had happened to you,” he babbles, a hand holding the back of my head. “I was gonna go to the cops, but Peggy strongly discouraged it. Said you’ve been checking in with her almost every day.” His head shakes and he withdraws, moving to keep both his hands holding onto my shoulders. “But, Sugar, you scared the _life_ out of me. It’s been _over a month_ with no sign of you. Where the fuck have you _been_?”

My mouth gapes open before closing. My brain scrambles for any string of words that sound like an explanation. Somehow, Bucky and Steve did not prepare me for this—for someone noticing that I’d been missing.

Sam scans over my form, gaze dropping to my neck and lower before raising up, brow tilting in confusion and concern.

“You’re looking different,” he comments, eyes intermittently dropping to my neck. “A little like a leopard.” He gestures to my throat and heat surges to my cheeks. “Did you find a little boyfriend or something? Someone must have bought you that shiny new necklace.” His cheek twitches with the hint of a possible smile. But I can’t return the gesture.

Because what do I call Steve and Bucky. ‘Boyfriend’ seems juvenile, impermanent, nondescript compared to what they really are. I tug my long sleeves down to cover my hands, bringing them up to wrap around the sides of my neck, self-consciously hiding the marks Bucky left in the wake of our sleepy cuddles.

“I moved in with Bucky and Steve.” My lips strain toward a smile as I try to think of the right words. “Bucky just got a little overzealous.”

“What the _fuck_?” Sam’s eyes squint, his head cocks, and he takes a step back. Looking at me as if I sit in a new light, his mind works to make sense of my statement. My lips part, an explanation ready to spill out. But he swallows hard and holds a hand up. “Don’t tell me—”

“We’re—” I interject at the same time, before quickly swallowing my words and dropping my chin.

“I can guess, Sugar.” His hand lands on my shoulder again and he steps forward, bowing his head to meet my lowered eyes. Skepticism lurks in his gaze as he asks, “Are you okay? You’re not in trouble, are you?”

I blink, eyes widening, a panic response launching in my brain. My jaw drops, mouth hanging open when words cannot seem to form on my tongue.

“Sam, long time, no see,” Steve greets, approaching the man from behind and holding a large plate piled with sandwiches. “How have you been?”

Sam watches closely as Steve sets the plate next to my book and wraps an arm around my shoulder, pulling me into his chest. My body relaxes in Steve’s presence, feeling protected. But Sam’s expression only closes off more, the smile cracking his lips not reaching his eyes.

“Been worried about our disappearing girl, here,” he responds, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter. “She gave me quite the scare, being gone for so long without a word of warning.”

Steve glances at me, dropping a kiss to the side on my head and rubbing his hand along my spine, saying “She came over for dinner with Buck and I before our anniversary. We decided it was time to stop denying the way we feel. We’ve been feeling things out these last few weeks, finding a way for this relationship to work for all of us. Didn’t mean to worry anybody, we’re sorry about that.”

“A nice little honeymoon period, then,” Sam remarks, voice cool and collected. His eyes are hard, radiating judgement toward Steve.

The tense silence stretches between the three of us, my own mouth glued shut with anxiety and a whine aching to release from my throat. I fidget in the embrace, feeling the full weight of Sam’s scrutiny settling on me. Leaning further into Steve, tears well in my eyes, born of stress and tasting bitter on my tongue.

Sam’s eyes soften, seeing the moisture gathering. His arms drop and he reaches out a hand toward me.

“Sugar, hey, wait,” Sam starts, sputtering for something to say to stop my clear distress.

Steve turns away from my friend and cups my cheeks, breathing out tender reassurances and placations. He kisses my cheeks, and rubs his nose against mine in a sweet gesture. He ensconces me with his adoration until the rest of the world fades away and nothing else matters.

The sound of my name pulls me back to reality, the syllables almost lost in the buzzing noise of the café. Blinking, I turn. Bucky rushes forward, skirting around Sam’s stunned figure and pulling me into his arms.

Much like Steve, Bucky wraps me up in loving words and gentle hands, while the rest of the world carries on.

Peering over Bucky’s shoulder, Sam gazes in on our little moment, spine straight and expression despondent. He heaves a heavy sigh, looks toward the floor and backs away without a word. His fist clenches at his side, shoving into his pocket, as he walks to the door and exits the café, shoulders slouched.

Bucky smooths a hand over my hair, coaxing me a bit further away from my seat and settling himself on the stool. He pulls me into his lap while Steve retakes his spot beside us. We eat our lunch together, sharing sandwiches and exchanging glances. Our little bubble cocooning us away from other concerns.

When we finish, Bucky kisses my cheek and cleans away our dishes, taking them back to the kitchen with the promise to return after his work. Steve retreats behind the counter, joining his baristas in serving customers, his eyes glancing over to me every so often.

I watch him work, his muscles moving under the material of his shirt, the graceful lines of his figure bulging and elongating. His is a form that would better fit amongst the Renaissance sculptures in a museum.

He catches me ogling, feeling my burning gaze, a playful smirk quirking his lips. Quickly snapping my attention to my book, I grab a colored pencil and start filling in a space in my picture.

“One hot chocolate for the sweetest princess known to man,” he rasps in a husky voice, placing a steaming mug by my hand. His fingers brush over mine as I set my colored pencil down, reaching out for him in thanks.

“Teddy,” I hum, wrapping my hands around the cup, “you make my favorite hot chocolate in the entire world.”

Warmth radiates through me with the first sip, though only partly from the heated drink. The rest comes from the love and desire flooding through me from the look on his face and his gentle, needy touches over the counter.

“Anything for my best girl,” he says, tucking an errant hair behind my ear.

Someone calls to him, Leo needing help with overabundant orders and Steve withdraws with one last soft grin.

Business grows more hectic in the café, the line extending toward the door and tables all full of happy customers. I watch from my perch, relishing in the homey atmosphere and untouched by the controlled chaos of service.

The chorus of voices evens into a dull roar, a buzz in the background, espresso machines hissing and spitting out some of the best coffee in the city. Pastry’s crunch and melt in the mouths of people enjoying their lunch breaks, pleasant noises of satisfaction hum out of their lips. Light shines through the front windows, tilting as the sun rises higher in the sky. Scents of cinnamon sugar, coffee, and fresh herbs swirl through the air, familiar and comforting.

And I sit, contented, in The Line Café, watching, waiting. The people sweep through the door, met with friendly faces and aromatic offerings. A woman taps out a document on her laptop, an older man reads the comics in his newspaper. A sigh blows across my lips. The puff of air cooling my drink as it raises to my lips for another sip.

Movement and life stream through this cozy place. A time capsule of vintage flair and welcoming atmosphere. And I have found my place, like the antique books lining the rugged shelves or the plush armchairs in the corner. A constant, fixed position, cherished by the fervent men who stole my heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I missed any tags, let me know and I’ll add them! 
> 
> 💜
> 
> Also, if you want to drop by and say ‘hi’ or wanna have a chat, here’s my [Tumblr!](http://foxgloveprincess.tumblr.com/) I’m willing to answer questions and maybe write some short headcanons for what happens after we leave Sugar.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think. Leave a comment or kudos—I love hearing feedback!


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